


Cunning

by ninashtia



Series: Cunning and Ambition [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Canon Compliant, Drama, Explicit Language, F/M, Friendship/Love, Gryffindor, Humor, Mild Sexual Content, Minor Violence, Multi, Possibly Unrequited Love, Quidditch, Romance, Slytherins Being Slytherins, Substance Abuse, Teen Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-30
Updated: 2015-01-20
Packaged: 2018-01-06 18:25:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 24
Words: 88,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1110111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninashtia/pseuds/ninashtia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The end justifies the means, right? Follow seventh year Elizabeth Montieth as she learns what it means to be a Slytherin - when you may just be falling for a certain aggravating, obnoxious, and fanatical brown-eyed Gryffindor Quidditch Captain.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The end justifies the means, right? Follow seventh year Elizabeth Montieth as she learns what it means to be a Slytherin - when you may just be falling for a certain aggravating, obnoxious, and fanatical brown-eyed Gryffindor Quidditch Captain. OW/OC

“A man who is used to acting in one way never changes; he must come to ruin when the times, in changing, no longer are in harmony with his ways.” 

-Niccolo Machiavelli, _The Prince_  


* * *

_  
_   


Winging it is an art; a form of life. It is known that as long as you can dodge curses faster than the person throwing them, you’ll be able to keep it together. After all, problems _really_ begin when life outsmarts you and you are out of excuses.

My life began to slip through my fingers faster than a Firebolt one morning during the summer holidays when the post arrived.

“Elizabeth! You are going to use up all of the hot water,” I could hear Francis’ screaming even with the shower on – probably because I wasn’t beneath it anymore, but he didn’t need to know that. I brushed my teeth (twice) while the room continued to turn into a sauna, all the time imagining Francis’ beet red anger and giggling.

“Elizabeth!”

I rolled my eyes, secured a towel firmly across my body, and opened the door. “Did anybody ever tell you what a fantastic interpretation of an angry bull you make?” I asked, cocking my head to the side, a strand of wet dark hair slapping me in the right eye. “Bugger,” I muttered, pushing it back and making a mental note to get a trim.

Unlike my side of the family, Francis and his younger sister Gwendolyn had inherited their father’s golden locks, which meant we hardly looked alike. In fact, I remember asking their mum if Francis had been adopted on several occasions. “Just shove it,” he pushed me out of the bathroom and into the hallway, and slapped the door closed. I laughed and walked away.

A second later I heard the expected high-pitched shout, “Elizabeth! You -!” I snickered and put my fingers in my ears to keep the sound of my cousin’s foul mouth out before opening the door to the room I shared with my youngest, and more tolerable, cousin.

Gwendolyn was lying on top of my bed, playing a game of chess with the one and only (thank Salazar) Oliver Wood. While Gwen, all thirteen years of strawberry-blonde evil genius was pondering her next move, the resident brat was staring at me. And what was worse, his golden retriever was chewing on my duvet. You know all that crap about Gryffindor’s being honourable and whatnot?

Well, it’s crap.

“Wood out,” I said keeping my voice even and composed, pointing with an outstretched arm to the hall behind me while securing the towel against my non-existing chest. “And take that sodding beast with you!”

The twit licked his lips as he rearranged his burly figure on my bed, “We are playing chess, care to join?”  The dog barked and spilled saliva on the pillow; I cringed.

“Could you stop that beast from eating my covers? It’s disgusting,” I said, my mouth twisting in a disgusted sneer. Times like these I really wished my aunt and his mother had never met.

“Daisy is a lady, not a beast,” he said with a silly grin and a fake apologetic smile.

“You really need to think twice about what you consider ladies to be, Wood. Although considering that thing you dared call your girlfriend, the dog is a definite improvement.”

He gave me a small chuckle, checkmated Gwen’s king much to her horror, and stretched his arms before getting off the bed. I watched him as he nudged the dog by the collar. She jumped on her paws and rushed past me, almost making me lose my hold on my towel.

I was still standing by the door when he passed me by, lowering his head so as to whisper in my ear, “Don’t worry Sarah, I like my girls with an actual rack.”

Sometimes, I just want to kill him out of sheer displeasure, “Oh yeah? Well I like my boys with brains, dumbarse!” I slammed the door shut, but could still hear his laughter coming from downstairs. “And it’s Elizabeth!”

Gwen stared at me doing a bad job at not laughing in my face. “That was a lousy comeback, Lisa. Losing your touch?”

She had a point, not that I’d ever admit it. “Sod off,” I muttered, opening the drawers where I had my clothes and searching for something to wear.

Every year, since my mother was permanently hospitalized in St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, my father’s sister, Aunt Adelaine, had taken it upon herself to take my brothers and me away during the summer time. Unfortunately, most of these vacations included the Wood family. Mrs. Wood and Aunt Adelaine were old school friends with a penchant for vacationing together, which usually meant anywhere between two to three months of non-stop-Oliver-Sodding-Wood companionship.

Him and his habit of calling me by my first name.

My parents hadn’t been original when naming me and had simply insisted I be named after my mother, Sarah; I suppose they threw Elizabeth in there for good measure. Only Wood insisted on calling me Sarah; I was Elizabeth to everyone else.

“Breakfast is ready, hurry up or Francis and Oliver will eat all of the food before you even get there,” Gwen said. I waved her off as I put on a top and a pair of shorts. It was supposed to rain that day, which meant no beach. What, I ask Salazar, is the purpose of vacationing in Greece if it is going to rain for four days in a row? It had been four days trapped with not only Wood but Francis. As if dealing with one Gryffindork wasn’t enough… at least Gwen was in Ravenclaw. My brothers, William, Armand, and Nicholas had all graduated from Hogwarts (William was even married) already, and were thus exempt from these trips.

Oh Salazar, please help me survive the next Gryffindork-infested month with at least half my brain capacities intact. I solemnly swear I shall abuse my prefect status to benefit our noble house if I do.

I finished dressing and walked down the stairs towards the kitchen. I took a seat next to Gwen, away from the two laughing trolls, and grabbed some tea. The adults were having their breakfast in the garden. I had just put sugar in my tea when the quaint white door opened to a rather plump woman.

 “Post is here!” Mrs. Wood chanted; she had a stack of parchment in her hands which she began to distribute. We were all sitting at the round, rather small, kitchen table enjoying some dry toast and slightly burned bacon. Well, I was enjoying the toast, not the bacon. The dog was safely locked in Wood’s room for the time being, and the dork seemed to have taken that a bit too personally. I shrugged for what could I possibly do to make it better?

“Here you go, dear,” Mrs. Wood said handing me a letter. Curious, since I had expected zero correspondence over the summer, I looked to see whose it was. A groan escaped my throat before I could help myself.

There, written in uptight-pureblood writing were the words “Terrence Maximilian Higgs.” I looked at my half eaten toast, and whatever appetite I had disappeared. Deciding I would not continue to ruin this hideous morning, I put the letter down and picked up my cup of tea.

“Who is that from?” Francis asked with his mouth full of bacon. I recoiled; little things like this made it extremely hard to believe we were actually related.

“None of your business.”  He gave me a wicked smile before diving in and grabbing the letter from right beneath my plate. Bugger.

 “Francis, give that back before I am forced to hex you,” I said, trying to sound calm.

“Oooh, Terrence Maximillian Higgs…. Do all of your ex-boyfriends write letters with their full names on them? What do you reckon he’s trying to do, Oliver, make up for something else?” Wood spat the tea he had been drinking all over himself, and even Gwen giggled. My cheeks heated up. “What can I say? I don’t particularly like having you in the family, Liz, but dumping that twat was perhaps the only moment in which I was proud to call you my cousin.”

“Francis, I’m warning you,” I said through gritted teeth. Of all mornings to forget my wand upstairs I had to choose this one.

He raised his eyebrows before tearing the envelope apart, “Do you worst,” he said with a grin, throwing down the empty envelope and holding my letter with his left hand. We both sprung from our chairs at the same time. He was closest to the door, and I had to go around Gwen so I almost tripped on the small carpet Mrs. Wood had positioned at kitchen’s entry.

Somewhere above us, the dog barked.

I chased him across the living room and up the stairs until we reached the room he was sharing with Wood. The dog barked again. We both froze; his hand on the handle mine itching for my wand. “Francis,” I tried to reason, “Give me the letter and no one gets hurt.”

His smile widened before he turned the handle. I had no time to prepare before I was tackled to the ground, the dog holding me and my nose hostage. I tried to pry her away from me, but she was weighting me down. It took me two whole unobstructed breaths to realize Wood grabbed her by her collar and had to pulled her off of me. He even had time to offer me his hand- which I ignored.

Rushing inside the room, I found Francis sitting comfortable on his bed and reading my letter. I gave what sounded like a war cry before I threw myself on top of him and tried to remove it from his hands, but the prat had longer arms than me and kept it out of reach. Wood walked in as if two people weren’t fighting to the death wasn’t anything worth remarking upon, and took the letter from Francis’ hand. I fell; thankfully, on Francis’ back. If I was lucky, the impact would have broken his spine. However, I happened to have more important matters to fret over.

Like the fact that of all people who could possibly read whatever humiliating thing Terrence had written, it had to be the sodding Scott.

“Wood, give me that letter,” I said trying to keep the terror from popping into my voice. I pushed Francis’ head down against the wooden floor and propelled myself off of him and unto my two feet.

“‘Dear Elizabeth,’ ” he began reading; I tried running at him like a mad woman, but Francis grabbed my ankle, tripping me. “ ‘I hope you are having a nice summer; I am too, if having a nice summer means that all my time is spent thinking of you,’ how sweet,” he threw me a mocking smile. “‘I am quite sorry not to be there with you and blah blah blah.’ Honestly, Sarah, you can get a cavity out of this thing.”

I could feel my face getting hot, with something more than just mortification. “Hand it back, Wood!”

He cleared his throat before continuing, “‘I really wish you would let me explain the events that transpired’ –transpired? Who uses that word on a letter?”

“Who knew Higgs could read?” Francis chipped in from the floor. I kicked his head with my free leg, making him squeal like a girl and earning my freedom. I jumped on Wood’s back and he caught one of my legs, so I was straddling him from behind.  “Give me that!”

“Wait a second!” he said with a laugh, slapping my hands away with a lazy move. He didn’t seem to mind that I was practically hanging unto his neck for dear life. “I am about to find out why you two broke up last term.”

“Two galleons he forgot to compliment her on a new haircut!”

There was cold sweat coming down from my spine, and my legs felt like jelly. He couldn’t, Wood and Francis could _not_ find out what Terrence and I broke up.

 “Oliver, return that letter immediately!” we all turned around, quite mid-scene, to see plump Mrs. Wood looking murderously at her only son. I felt Wood’s body tense, and begrudgingly he handed me the letter. I jumped off his back and held the wrinkled parchment to my chest. Mrs. Wood motioned with her finger for Woody to follow her, and he threw me a ‘thank-you’ glare before leaving the room.

I replied by s him a victorious-in-your-face blown kiss before I pocketed the letter and proceeded to walk out.

 “You didn’t have to overreact you, know?” Francis said; he was finally off the floor and I wondered if the hardwood floor’s markings on his face would become a permanent fixture. I hoped so. “It was just a letter!”

I ignored him, grabbed my wand from my room, run down the stairs, put on some shadily constructed sandals and rushed towards the door. Aunt Adelaine yelled something about taking an umbrella with me. I ignored her.  I hit the road closest to the cottage, not caring about where I was headed.

Directions be damned.

When it did start to rain, (and I mean tropical-thunderstorm kind of rain) I took refuge in a small coffee shop. I bought a cup of tea with some stray muggle money I had in one of my pockets, and sat down to read the letter.

Leave it to Terrence to be disgustingly sweet when he needs to.

 “ _Lisa, I know you probably don’t want to hear from me right now, and I understand. But we have too much history to throw it overboard due to one mistake on my part. There is also our future to consider. I just want you to know that you are still my chosen one. And that I am a stupid git, although you can probably come up with a better insult than that._

_Just… forgive me._

_Love, Terrence_.”

What a twit, I thought as I tore the piece of parchment into tiny pieces, only to regret it five minutes later.

It was with a heavy feeling that I returned to the rented house- some couple of hours later.

 “Elizabeth, where were you? You can’t just run off like -” Aunt Adelaine began scolding me the moment I put one wet toe in the house. Everyone stared, of course: I was soaking wet, it had rained for the entire blasted afternoon, and I had been gone for well over six hours. I even missed tea. And supper. Unfortunately for her, I was hungry, angry and frustrated (not to mention wet) and didn’t bother to pay her much attention. She was left with no other option but to follow me up the stairs while yelling at me. She has good lungs, Aunt Adelaine does.

“I’m a witch,” I said when I reached the thankfully empty bedroom and began getting off of my wet clothes and grabbing fresh ones to change into, “I’m seventeen; I had my wand on me. I’m pretty sure I can defend myself if need be when surrounded by muggles.”

“That is not the point, young lady, you are under my charge here and you will do as I say for once,” she continued, now following me towards the bathroom. I needed a long bath, and hopefully Francis hadn’t finished the hot water in retaliation for this morning. I doubted the thought had even occurred to him, the poor sheepish fool. “You are grounded,” Aunt Adelaine said with finality, arms crossed tightly across her massive chest for effect.

I rolled my eyes, “Fine.” I slammed the bathroom door on her face and proceeded to open the hot water faucet. I could hear her threatening to send me back to Britain in a millisecond but we both knew that was a ruddy lie.

I took my sweet time with that bath and by the time I left, perfectly clothed, it was after dark. Of course, Wood was playing chess with Gwendolyn on my bed, again. I leaned against the doorframe with my arms crossed and a frown on my face, waiting for the resident prat to get the point. “What?” he shrugged when he finally met my eyes. He moved his bishop, allowing Gwendolyn a nice view of his queen. Idiot.

 “It’s raining, and we are both grounded; the options for entertainment are rather slim right now so we might as well avoid killing each other just yet.”

I snorted as I sat down between them, grabbing Gwendolyn’s horse to attack Wood’s Queen. He swore colourfully and made a dull move with one of his towers. I smiled. “Mate in five, Wood; you really shouldn’t have lost that queen of yours.”

“Bugger.”


	2. Burned

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally this vacation was going somewhere I enjoyed.

The plan was simple enough for any common town fool to comprehend: convince the adults to let us go out, lose the Gryffindorks, get smashed, and (finally) find me some hot Greek bloke.  The first parts at least went by smoothly.

Francis got lost within three seconds of us walking in, and I purposely lost Wood shortly thereafter. The arse was currently sitting on a nearby stool, sweet talking some gorgeous blonde and flaunting his trademark grin. It made me sick to my stomach, really. The cheeky bastard sent me a wink when he caught me staring, just before leaning in to whisper something to Miss Blonde.

I couldn’t help but grimace at the thought of being so close to Woody.

Taking another rather large sip of my drink, I began to scan the area for a suitable companion. My eyes immediately fell on a rather burly guy not too far off. I inspected him cautiously. His skin glowed in the dim electric light, and his hair was rather dark and messy. His features looked manly enough, but it was the biceps and triceps emanating from his black shirt that drew me in. What can I say, a have a weakness for athletes.

He caught my eye and I gave him what I hoped was an alluring smile before returning to my drink. Quickly tapping my lips with my tongue I made sure my lipstick was still in place. Time to play to cool; I counted in my head. One, two, three… I felt a hand tap me in the shoulder, and I gave myself a mental pat on the back. A side glance told me it was Mr. Muscles alright.

Elizabeth 1; muggle club 0.

“Can I buy you a drink?” said a very heavily (and sexily) accented voice that made my insides squirm like squid on a barbeque. I offered him a coy smile making sure to keep my eyes hidden underneath my fringe for extra allure.

I read Witch Weekly, ok?

“Sure.” He motioned to the barman to get us both a refill, and I quickly drowned what was left of mine before accepting the new one. I licked my lips before digging in.

He held his drink forward, and I clicked mine with his; my eyes never leaving his. “Pieter,” he said, extending his arm.

“Elizabeth,” I replied. He drank his beer; at least I thought it was beer, in one long gulp, giving me perfect access to stare at his well chiselled profile. It seemed to me I had scored me a hot Greek Gyros.

_Finally_ this vacation was going somewhere I enjoyed.

He wiped the foam from his lips with the back of his hand, and offered me a drunken grin which I found oddly attractive. Normally I’d catalogue him as a Neanderthal due to his horrible manners, but when in Greece…

He offered me his hand again, “Would you care to dance?”

I nodded and flung my handbag over my shoulder before following him to the dance floor. His hands found the thin line between my hips and my arse quickly enough, while I snaked my arms around his broad shoulders. He whispered something in my ear which tickled, but other than that I did not understand a word he said so I giggled hoping that would be a good enough response.

It must have been because he proceeded to lock his lips against mine; not that I complaubed. This was by far the best thing that had happened since I left England.

He smelled of the ocean and sun lotion and and his hand drew tiny but seductive circles on my lower back bringing forgotten sensations back to living memory. It wasn’t fireworks and butterflies, but it was damn good snog and Merlin knew I hadn’t had one since… let’s not go there.

Who knows? Perhaps one kiss could still save this retched summer.

Just as the kiss was getting somewhere we shall call “interesting,” I felt an annoying tug on my upper arm. I waved my hand at it in an irritated fashion as if trying to kill a fly, refusing to open my eyes and confirm my worst suspicions. But the pulling and poking persisted. Groaning in pure vexation, I tore myself away from Green-Eyed-Greek-God to stare at a very angry looking Brown-Eyed-Scottish-Moron.

“Can I help you?” I asked through gritted teeth.

Wood rolled his eyes and grabbed a hold of my arm, yanking it away from Gyros’ neck rather forcefully. “Matter of fact, yes,” he said and without waiting for a reply, began to push me towards the opposite side of the club. I screamed at Gyros’ (was that even his name?) that I’d be back, I just needed to sort out some garbage but I doubt he heard me over the music.

One of these days, I am going to stop talking and actually kill the Gryffindor captain.

“What the bloody hell is your problem?” I yelled over the music as he continued to force-walk me forward, “Just because you can’t get any doesn’t mean we should all do the same!”  
“For your information,” he yelled back, “I wasn’t trying to get any. And we are having a little bit of a situation,” he stopped walking abruptly, causing me to crash unto his back. The sodding idiot didn’t even notice, he just grabbed me by the shoulders and pushed me around so I was standing in front of him. He lifted his arm to point at something, but I was momentarily distracted by the closeness of his cheek to mine. “See that big bloke over there?” I nodded, still confused, still wanting to commit homicide. “Well, he is about to decapitate your cousin. Do something.”

“Excuse me?” I asked indignantly, turning my head to give him a better glare. Bad idea, his face was facing my way and we were awfully close. I quickly returned to my forward-facing position, hoping I won’t have nightmares. “You had to break up a perfectly good snog to save Francis’ arse? Why couldn’t you do it yourself?”

“Because, dear Sarah, that bloke there is about eight feet tall of pure, sodding muscle. He’d kill me like a mosquito.”

“That makes perfect sense, Wood. Send the five feet four petite _girl_ instead!” So much for ‘Gryffindor is where lie the brave of heart’ pftt.

He chuckled before answering, “You got it wrong, Sarah, dearie. I am sending the seventeen year old witch who carries her wand in her handbag to deal with big, bad muggle. Now, off with you!” he pushed me forward so that I precariously landed in front of big, bad muggle and a terrorized Francis.

“I don’t know what his problem is!” he yelled at me, “I only snogged one girl!”

I rolled my eyes at my cousin’s dim witness. He too was of age, but the bubblehead probably forgot to bring his wand or was too hammered to conjure up a proper spell. Annoyed as I was, I nevertheless faced the giant with one hand on my hip, the other one fishing for my wand inside my shoulder bag. “Oi you big twit!” I yelled to get his attention. He moved his big beady brown eyes away from my cousin’s cowering figure and towards me. He flashed me a crooked smile. I suddenly felt I was standing before a mountain troll rather than an actual human being. “Yes you, now if you know what is best for you, you will stop beating the crap out of that pesky little--!” I couldn’t finish talking because the beast had grabbed me from the waist and tried to violate my lips.

Ew.

Screw my wand- this required serious measures. The prat was wearing sandals, so I stepped on his foot as hard as I could with the pointiest part of my stilettos just as a fist collided with his jaw. Hurting from two body parts simultaneously, he let me go and I lost my balance, crashing on the floor. Wood was by my side in an instant trying to help me up, but he had to duck because beast tried to retaliate. “Now what?” I screamed at him, as I extended my leg hoping to trip him over.

“No idea,” he replied with a look of alarm as two new bodybuilders were joining in the fight. One of them grabbed Wood by the collar and lifted him up to begin using him as a punching bag. I scrunched up my nose at the noise and secretly prayed there wouldn’t be any blood. I hate blood.

Francis was back on his feet and trying to throw a punch of two, but was mostly losing his balance. Woody wasn’t faring much better, but at least he could hold his ground. Beastie, on the other hand, decided I would be more fun to play with than two skinny British blokes. He yanked me up and smirked, tracing his hands on my hand. I shivered at the unwelcome contact, but took the opportunity to try and hit him again. This time he was ready for my heels and moved his foot away in time, making me lose my balance and fall closer to him. Not one to go down easily, I elbowed him in the gut with all my strength while simultaneously grabbing my wand.

I speedily scanned the scene. Francis was on the floor, two blokes hitting him with their backs exposed to me. Beastie was still reeling from my apparently successful elbowing, and Woody had managed to knock one guy out. Fights were breaking everywhere, and unless I could retrieve my two Gryffindorks, there was no way in hell we were getting out of here.

I spotted a big lamp just on top of me and, keeping my wand concealed in my handbag; I struck it, “Reducto!”

Sparks went flying everywhere as a chain reaction formed. I caught Wood’s eye just as the lamps above us began bursting, successfully burning my arms and legs in the process. Wood reached his hand out to me in the commotion and I took it. Together we rushed to pick Francis up from his armpits and were out of the main door faster than McGonagal can say ‘detention’. I could hear screams and shouts coming from the inside, and the sound of an alarm that had just gone off. Security guards saw us running but had enough sense to move to the side and let us pass. We rushed through the empty streets as fast as we could, which carrying Francis’ dead weight alongside, was no easy task.

We only took a rest when we were a good five streets away. Out of breath and with throbbing feet, I gave in and dropped my support for Francis’ weight. Wood heaved as he tried not to lose both of their balance. He shot me an ungrateful look as I tried to regain my breathing. Francis muttered something before landing on his hands and knees; he moved quickly towards a nearby garbage can and proceeded to throw up.

Disgusting.

“Should we pull his hair back, you think?” Wood asked in between hard earned breaths.

“Hell no, let him choke for all I care,” I shot back. Wood nodded and leaned against the brick wall, his chest moving up and down rather erratically. I got a good look at his face, and it looked like he had some nasty bruises and a few small burns.

“That was bloody brilliant, that was, what you did,” he said after a minute or two, “Well placed jinx.”

I nodded, “I know.”

He managed to laugh, but then thought better of it and grabbed his side with his hand; his face scrunched up in pain. “Always so humble.” I shrugged and walked next to Francis, to see how he was doing. Not that I cared, I just wanted to be gone from this area before someone detected the magic. “Do you think the jinx can be traced?” Wood echoed my own thoughts.

“Maybe,” I said, “You _are_ underage; it might have triggered your tracer. Let us hope the Greek ministry is far too drunk or underpaid to actually care,” the last thing I wanted to deal with on this vacation was a ministry investigation of any sort.

“You got burned, you know that?” Wood said looking at me closely. I lifted my hand to touch my cheek and felt a patch or three of burned skin. Fantastic. “There is dittany at the cottage, I can fix you up.”

Nodding, I hit Francis in the shoulder to see if he was ready to move on but he only groaned before passing out. I rolled my eyes, just my luck. Taking a quick peek around me, I pulled out my wand and before Wood could complain, cast a quick spell to make Francis levitate ever so slightly; might as well be hanged for a dragon as an egg. I looked back at Wood who was staring at me with a raised eyebrow and a small grin. “If you want to carry him the muggle way, be my guest but I don’t fancy a torn muscle on his account.”

He raised his hands in defeat and moved to pull Francis’ arm around his shoulder. I did the same, my wand hand coming to rest between Francis and Wood’s abdomen so I could keep levitating my cousin without much ado.

We walked like this until we reached the cottage, a good twenty minutes later.

We had to be quiet so as not to wake up the adults or Gwen, so we dropped Francis on his bed without bothering- Wood simply made sure his face was pointing downwards so he wouldn’t accidently choke on his own vomit. He then run to the bathroom to pick up the dittany and I settled myself on his bed. I looked down at my nice button down shirt to find it burned and soiled with sweat. Feeling incredibly dirty, I removed it and threw over my cousin’s past out body, staying in only a white sleeveless undershirt.

Wood reappeared a moment later holding a small vial of essence of dittany. He sat at on the other side of the bed and motioned for me to move my legs forward. “You have a bad burn on your left ankle,” he explained, “I noticed you were limping while we were walking. I want to treat that first so it won’t leave unnecessary scarring.”

Nodding, I crossed my arms and leaned back on the cold wall, but put my leg on his lap. He began to pour the dittany. A small hiss escaped my lips when the clear liquid touched the burn. “Sorry, it tends to do that.”

I groaned my dissatisfaction as I let him continue to treat the rest of my leg. Apparently, casting a reducto curse on a lamp right above your head is not the smartest thing. Figures.

“Something tells me this night didn’t go the way you wanted it to,” he said while motioning for me to turn around so he could heal my arms.

_My life isn’t going the way I wanted to_ , I thought.

“This vacation is not going the way I want it to,” I said instead trying not to let him know the dittany burned like hell. When he was done with my legs and arms, he motioned for me to move around so he could do my back.

 “Sorry about the bloke, it seemed like you were enjoying his groping,” he said, his breath tickling the back of my neck, giving me goose bumps. His hands were warm as they moved expertly around my shoulders. It was a very, very uncomfortable situation.

If he was sorry, I was a closet Hufflepuff. “Yes. But then you had to ruin it.”  
He chuckled. “Let me see your face,” I turned around and sat cross legged in front of him. He grabbed the dittany and poured it on a piece of cloth before dabbing at my cheek. His brown eyes were looking nowhere else but the red burn on my skin and I was momentarily distracted by the level of concentration this bloke could achieve. “I personally don’t see what is so fun about hooking up with a complete stranger.”  
I couldn’t help it, I snorted. “Seriously? What about that blonde you were whispering sweet nothings to?”

“I didn’t want it to go anywhere, the girl didn’t speak English,” he said with a shrug, “And I couldn’t pronounce her name. How can you snog someone whose name you don’t even know?”

“I knew his name,” I said quickly, almost defensively. At least I think I did; I know he _told_ me his name.

His eyes moved upwards to give me a mischievous smile before refilling the cloth with dittany. “I just think that it is more fun to snog someone you know; someone with whom there is potential.”  
“Let me remind you, Woody that your longest relationship lasted _three months_.”

“It was Quidditch season, I had to focus,” of course, Quidditch, the excuse of excuses. “Besides, not all of us can put up with complete gits like Higgs for years.”

I snapped his hand away abruptly. He let out a small squeak, and I smirked in victory. “Someone is still sour.”  
“Sod off, Wood,” I spat jumping off the bed, “Don’t talk about shit you know nothing about.”

“You still have a burn near your right eye, want me to fix it?” Damn. I could walk away with my ego barely bruised but chance a life-long scar and a story I really didn’t want to tell. Or I could suck it up, and let him clean it.

Sometimes, I really hate being so vain.

I sat back down and let him dab at the corner of my eye. “Way finish ruining night,” I muttered under my breath. He stopped treating my eye and lifted my chin up, so that I was forced to look into his eyes. I pouted, trying to show him just how exasperated I was. He raised an eyebrow.

“I won’t bring it up again. But you know, if he hurt you, Francis and I can always beat him up for you.”

I laughed out loud. “Like you beat up that bloke from the bar? I think I’d rather rely on my shoes than your muscles, they are far more reliable.”

He chuckled and flexed his right arm, giving me a nice view of his biceps. “With these babes? Please, Higgs is as good as mashed potato.” Shaking my head in between chuckles, I got up and stretched. Wood’s attention was diverted on applying dittany to his own burn wounds – which were far less than mine. Unfair

“Sarah?” he said as I was closing the door to the room.

“Yes?”  
“Why can’t we always be like this?”

I furrowed my eyebrows, “What do you mean?”  
“You know,” he said looking at me, “Like this: get along,  laugh at each other’s expense.”

“Because you are a git, that’s why.”

He smiled one last time before turning his gaze back to his wounds. “Can’t argue with that.”

_Of course you can’t._

Thankfully, my spell casting didn’t merit government attention, and other than a knowing look from Aunt Adelaine the morning after, we were left unscathed from our little expedition. Of course, neither one of us was dimwitted enough to give clubbing another try so the rest of the two weeks in Greece passed in rather normalcy.

Meaning, it was back to its natural lousy self.

Wood’s birthday came by at last towards the end of August, on our very last night in Greece. Mrs. Wood prepared a heavenly dinner and Aunt Adelaine had forced us (well, forced me) to attend and be, you know, _festive_. I still don’t understand how those two ended up friends.

The dinner went without much comment, other than Mrs. Wood getting some deserved compliments on her food. None from me, but the fact that I secretly acknowledged her talent as a cook was enough of a compliment. As the sun started to set, Mrs. Wood and Aunt Adelaine cleaned the table with Gwen’s help. I sat there, watching Francis lit a couple of Dr. Filibuster's fireworks to commemorate the occasion when Mrs. Wood walked in with a delicious looking chocolate cake in the shape of a lion’s head.

“Don’t forget to make a wish, Ollie!” said Mrs. Wood with a maniac glint in her eyes - at least now I knew who Wood inherited it from. The subject in question blushed terribly at being called ‘Ollie’ and muttered something incomprehensive.

“Asking for Gryffindor to win the cup is not a wish, Woody; that’s what we call a miracle.” I took a sip of my pitiful non-alcoholic drink. I was going to get so drunk when I got back to Slytherin; I had, after all, been relatively sober for some good three months. I received glares from all the members of the table, except for Aunt Adelaine and Wood himself, who simply smirked before blowing out the candles.

To commemorate our last night in Greece, the three of us decided to go for a long walk. Gwen wanted to come as well, but Aunt Adelaine declared she was too young. She had gone upstairs making sure to make as much noise as she could –had we had a cat, I was certain she would’ve kicked it. Francis walked with us until he saw some pretty pair of legs, and left to put up with Wood.

You really have got to love your family.

However, even I had to admit that when I shut off the voices in my head urging me to use the cruciatus curse, Wood wasn’t that bad.  He could be an annoying, single-minded, stubborn prick –not to mention a Gryffindor prince – but he did make my vacations a little more amusing than they would’ve otherwise been.

“So, are you coming?” his voice interrupted my not-so-grata train of thought. I stared at him, trying not to look like I hadn’t been paying attention. “Swimming. I mean, you haven’t put a single toe in that ocean in two months.”  
I shrugged, “Did it ever occur to you that there might be a reason for that?”

“Actually yes,” he said. The moonlight made his grin look deadlier than usual. He closed the distance between us, and lifted a strand of dark hair to whisper in my ear, “You are a bloody coward.”  
A shiver ran though my spine, which I attributed to the cold, summer wind. “Am not.”

“Then prove it,” he said with that manic glint before he grabbed a hold of my hand and began pulling me in the general direction of the ocean.

“Hell no!” I tried to bury my feet in the sand to make it harder for him, but Wood just kept running and pulling me along.

He turned around and looked at me with his puppy eyes. “Just come!” I may be a cold-hearted individual, but those were hard to refuse.  Wood pulled my wrist once more, there was no use fighting him, he had all the strength I lacked. I bit my lip trying to find a way out, failing, I allowed him to take me deeper into the water.

“Take this as your birthday present!”

He laughed, the water now reaching past my knees, “I thought the book on how to deal with puberty you gave me was my present.”  
“Oh yes…”

Best present I ever bought.

Within seconds, however, I was surrounded by the water; the bleeding thing was _everywhere_. My hair was turning into a birds nest, and the water began reaching past my hips. And I was so, so afraid, I wanted nothing more but to turn around and never look back. I yelled and screamed at him that if I lived through this, I would kill him. He laughed at my childishness; and yet, he never, not even when a gigantic wave pulled us under, let go of my hand. And I found myself jumping the waves, and getting full of foam, and still wanting nothing more than to run away. But he kept a strong grip on my hand, and kept telling me to follow him.

I laughed like I had never laughed before.

And I felt incredibly, safe; like I never had before. Because nothing spells safety and trust, like someone holding your hand and refusing to be parted from you, even when the ocean does its worse.

When we left the water, we were laughing like idiots. I tried to push him back into the water, but he dodged and pushed me instead. Getting up, I began chasing him, ignoring the sand that had nested itself underneath my shorts. My mind was dead set on bringing the Gryffindor captain down – even if it meant dying in the process.

I reached him and, jumping with all my might, managed to tackle him down- or maybe he threw himself into the sand in an attempt at humoring me. With Gryffindors, you can never be too sure.

My victory was short lived, for he immediately grabbed me by the shoulders and flipped me over, causing my head to hit the ground. He grinned in victory as he landed on top of me. I knew it was a lost cause, but I had my pride to uphold! I used all the strength in my petite body to flip him over, and sneered at him when I succeeded. He soon attacked once more, this time, defeating me for good.

Bugger.

“I suggest – I suggest you surrender,” he said, his voice cracking from lack of proper breathing. His forearms were resting next to my head, and water was trickling down from his wet locks and on my face. My own breath was coming short, and my heart was gorging in my throat. But what caused me to feel immensely discomfited, was the look in his chocolate brown eyes, and the sudden attractiveness of his half parted, chapped lips.

I grabbed a handful of sand and poured it on his head He closed his eyes and smiled in resignation. “Perhaps not,” he mumbled, “I should’ve have known.” I couldn’t help but giggle. Let me tell you this: I’m no giggler. It is a rare occurrence when I actually, you know, _giggle_.

Slowly, he rolled onto his back, releasing me from the prison of his arms. I pushed myself up as hurriedly as I could, and began to try and pry sand away from my legs with the same feeling of urgency. I looked down at my black shirt, and thanked Merlin I hadn’t worn white. Not that there was much to see anyway. Shrugging, I glanced over at Wood who was shaking his head like a wet dog. I quietly chortled.

We began the walk back to the cottage in silence, not even caring to find Francis. Not a nice, contemplative silence. This was the dictionary definition of awkward. There was a knot in my belly that was making me sick, and I secretly hoped it was due to the piece of jellyfish I think I accidently swallowed.

Merlin, I hate jellyfish.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoy. Review/Kudos/Constructive criticism much welcomed!


	3. Insulted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bloody Slytherins.

I was looking forward to returning to England about as much as I yearned to be run over by a herd of enraged Hippogriffs.

Although that was probably an exaggeration.

The most distasteful part of returning from an overseas vacation is really the travelling. You see, I’ve never been a big fan of portkeys or the floo network – I always land right on my arse and the floo leaves soot all over my robes. Unfortunately, I had to travel by _both_.

The adults took care of all our travel papers and documents and what not as magical law and international transportation officers did their job. I was a downright bored; they just poured over the parchments like hawks while we had nothing to do but tap out feet and count tiles. At least Greek officers were attractive. The whole mess would’ve been much more enjoyable if I had been allowed to flirt my way through it, but alas, I was stuck with my unbearable cousin and his birdbrained Scottish sidekick.

“I swear Francis, one more ridiculous joke about my legs, arse or any other body part you care to mention and I _will_ hex you all the to Argentina,” I said through clenched teeth, my hands twisting the handle of my handbag in place of my cousin’s fragile little neck. Aunt Adelaine had decreed I couldn’t choke him to death.

Wood snickered from behind me while Francis pretended to be scared. Gwen observed everything with a smug smirk. “But Elizabeth, I felt it was my obligation to inform Mr. Hot Green Officer that –“

“Oh will you stuff it already?” I practically yelled and was rewarded with a renewed fit of hysterical laughs. They remind me of hyenas sometimes.

On second thought, going back to England seemed just lovely. At least I would be rid of these loons.

“Alright kids, grab the portkey we are about to go home!” Mrs. Wood said doing a little jump out of sheer enthusiasm that shook the extra flap on her body. I rolled my eyes, but was secretly pleased. In just a few minutes, I’d be cat free. Elbowing the two resident prats out of the way, I placed one hand on the old trainer which was our poor excuse for a portkey, and secured my handbag with the other. I couldn’t help but scrunch my nose in disgust- it smelled.

Wood had enough time to laugh at me before we were uprooted from the grown and thrown into an ever spiraling vortex of time and space.

Maybe only space; I didn’t know if portkeys could travel through time.

Francis’ and Wood’s shoulders were crashing against mine; we were speeding forwards with sufficient force for the skin on my cheeks to be pushed backwards by the wind. The spiraling colors made me dizzy; I closed my eyes and counted backwards from one hundred hoping it would all be over soon when –

“Eight fourteen from Athens, Greece,” said a voice.

I fell. On my arse which was clad in white shorts. And I doubt the ministry cleans the floor thoroughly. Oh, bugger. Wood landed on his feet. He gave me a superior smile and offered me his hand, which I hit with mine as I scowled at him. He shrugged and went to help his mum get up instead. As quickly as I could, I jumped to my feet and began inspecting my behind. Thankfully, it wasn’t too dirty; it would do until I was home and I could change. After a nice hot shower with no Francis imposing a time limit, that was.

With that thought to cheer me up, I began looking around the Portkey office to see if any of my décor suggestions had been taken into consideration. It was simply ghastly, last year I just _had_ to owl some clip outs from magazines and well written notes on how to improve the place. From the same old-fashioned and black tiles adorning the floor and walls, I could tell that no, all my hard work had gone unappreciated.

Maybe I shouldn’t have called the head of the department a barmy color-blind giraffe.

They should at least put a plant in here, I thought, it would brighten the entire place up. I shook my head. The Ministry and their budget cuts… what would other wizards and witches think of us?

“There is a rather hideous necklace that was used as a Portkey from France, it’ll match your eyes,” said a voice from behind me, making me jump.

I rolled my eyes, “Sod off, Wood,” I said pushed past him to go stand near Aunt Adelaine, who was going over our paperwork with Lanky Wizard In Charge. Francis and Wood kept making their supposedly brilliantly wicked remarks and I had to focus on my breathing so I wouldn’t end up in Azkaban for rightful murder. By the time we were able to floo over, I was ready to snog British soil.

* * *

 

“How in Merlin’s name do you have bigger breasts than me?”

Gwen threw me a devious smile over her shoulder as Madam Malkin clicked her tongue while adjusting her robes. I sat in a corner, several bags next to me, and Witch Weekly opened up on top of my lap. I was also eyeing my thirteen year old cousin who already had the robes altered in the bosom area _thrice_ with malice. Life could sometimes be so unfair.

I looked down at the black skirt I was wearing, a small smile creeping into my lips. Well, at least I got the long legs.

Gwen quickly tried on another school robe while I flipped the pages of my magazine, my heels tapping softly on the stone flood. Although, if Madam Malkin’s twitch on her left eye every time I actually tapped the floor was any indication, I wasn’t being soft at all.

Oh well.

“What else do we have to buy before we can get out of this here?” I asked while skipping an entire three-page article on magical nail polish and how their magical weight lost properties. Preposterous, I tell you. Some of the garbage that is published in this magazine make the Quibbler equal literature. Now if I were the chief editor…

“Books,” came Gwen’s muffled voice as she removed her robe and handed it over to Madam Malkin, she then straightened her bright blue sundress before she continued. “But I was hoping we could stop for ice-cream first; I really need a break.”

I nodded. “Of course, all those adjustments due to your increasing chest must have left you _exhausted_ ,” I filled another page to find out how bubotuber pus with lavender oil can make for a brilliant aphrodisiac. “Complete and utter crap,” I muttered under my breath.

Gwen paid for her robes and I charmed all our purchases to fit into my tiny white dragonskin leather handbag. The wonders of being seventeen, I thought with a smile.  Chatting lightly about this and that, we made our way to Florean Fortescue’s Ice Cream Parlour for some non-diet friendly snacks.

After we ordered (and I got stuck paying), we settled on a small, round table which sported a hideous yellow and white umbrella. At least it was on the balcony.

“What did you think of this year’s vacation?” Gwen asked in between pecan butter and chocolate chip ice-cream spoonful’s. “I thought it was much nicer than last year’s trip in Peru. No murder attempts at least.”

I nodded, agreeing but for different reasons. A bloody llama had bitten my nose in Peru.

“I have to say though, I was surprised by how little you and Oliver bickered this time around. It almost felt like you were… how do you say? Bonding?” she continued. “Perhaps you’ve finally come to the realization that he is smoldering hot and want nothing more than to shag him senseless.”

I rolled my eyes, not at all alarmed at my thirteen year old cousin’s insinuations. I was one of the few people who knew Gwendolyn Oakley’s true self. She was the first hatstand in thirty years, and while most people thought the Sorting Hat was having a hard time deciding between Ravenclaw and Gryffindor, I knew all the fuss had been about the hat wanting to place her in Slytherin.

Gwen confessed to me that she thought people would be more susceptible to her charms if she was placed in Ravenclaw. You know, birdies don’t have the same stigma us snakes do. Which I thought was deliciously cunning on her part and all the more reason she should be in my house.

“That may be your dream fantasy, Gwen, but not mine. Besides,” I added after taking a break for another spoonful of decadent ice-cream, “His love for you must have blinded him to my female charms. After all, I am not the one here who is toppling over with the weight of her chest.”

Gwen rolled her eyes and twisted her spoon around to grab the hard-to-get ice-cream parts. “Yes of course, Oliver is a pedophile. Must be all that muscle mass interrupting proper blood flow to his brain,” we both chuckled like brainless school girls, but I could see a small blush appear on her cheeks regardless. “And you should really stop it with the breasts comments, they are getting old.”

“Whatever you say,” I said shrugging.

“Besides, he told me he has his little Gryffindor heart set on someone else,” she said with a perverted wiggle of her eyebrows.

“Keep dreaming, kid.”

Gwen laughed, covering her mouth with her hand when she started snorting. “I wasn’t talking about you, but it is rather nice to know you are a self-absorbed cow.”

I bowed my head mockingly. “Thank you, I do try.” We finished our ice-cream in silence for a few moments, savoring the peace and quiet that was Diagon Alley three days before the start of term. “Who is he after then?”

Gwen raised her eyebrows as I finished licking the remains of my dessert from my spoon. She chose not to speak what was on her mind, and thankfully, answered the question. “Some Gryffindor. Sorry, but I promised I wouldn’t tell. You should find out soon enough, though,” she added when I opened my mouth to protest. “He said he doesn’t want to waste another year.”

I nodded seemingly absentminded and got up from my chair, and pushed it inwards back towards the table. Gwen had given me a nice (if slightly incomplete) piece of gossip and now all I had to do was figure out a way to use it before it became too old. “Flourish and Blotts then?”

She nodded and with one last tingling sound of the entrance bell on top of the door, we left my second favorite store behind us, and got trapped in the chaos of last minute shopping. I sighed, my eyes quickly darting towards my choice of footwear; I really need to rethink my priorities if I think stilettos are a sensible choice for back to school shopping.

Gwen grabbed my arm and locked it with hers so we wouldn’t get separated in the ocean of crazy shoppers. Slowly, but rather painfully at the toes, we inched ever closer to our final destination. Flourish and Blotts was located almost at the end of Diagon Alley where the unusually (and impractically) narrow street opened up into a medium sized square, complete with one bench to sit on which was currently empty. Gringotts loomed ominously ahead of us, and little streets converged with Diagon Alley at this point, giving the square (which was actually a circle) the appearance of a spider with quite a few legs.

I could also see a congregation much darker than Knockturn Alley just off the main street.

Adrian Pucey and Marcus Flint were having a heated discussion in one of the intersections. Reaching into my handbag, I grabbed some gold and pushed some it and a piece of wrinkled parchment on Gwen’s hands. She took the opportunity to glare at me. “Of course, use me as your little lackey why don’t you?”

“If you insist, I’ll meet you at that bench in twenty,” I said, disentangling myself from her, and giving her a small wave as I left her standing in front of the bookstore. I heard her yell a few profanities my way which would have made her mother’s hair stand on end.

Or maybe they’ll make her proud, who knows? Gwendolyn can get creative with her insults.

“Pucey, Flint,” I greeted the two blokes who were casually leaning against some shop’s wall.

“Elizabeth Montieth, looking as sassy as ever,” Flint said, his eyes moving up and down my body in a way that I’m sure should be illegal. I glared at him.

“Good morning, Lisa,” Adrian said placidly. I flashed him a quick grin which he returned with a wink. Flirting with Adrian came as easily as breathing; pity we were third cousins twice removed on my mother’s side. It made for anything other than harmless flirting seem like incest. He was a very good looking bloke, and no amount of diluted shared blood could wipe that away. He had deep blue eyes that had a constant glazed look about them, as if he were always gone to la-la-land. His dark hair cupped his heart shaped face, making him seem like a sheep instead of the wolf that I knew lurked underneath. Once I got close enough to see them both clearly, I noticed that Adrian’s eyes had dark bags beneath them.  He must have eaten peanuts, he’s deathly allergic to them.

I shrugged and turned my attention to the slightly shorter, but decidedly burlier, bloke. “Can’t say I’m surprise to see you here, Flinty; failed how many NEWT’s again? I have to say I lost count.”

Marcus Flint, Slytherin Quidditch Captain, graced me with one of his very notorious sneers. The ones that made him look like a troll. Except that nowadays, whenever Flint sneered at some girl, they usually giggled instead of vomited. Terrence Higgs had jinxed him two years ago when he got replaced as seeker, earning himself a month worth of detention and leaving Flint with straighter teeth.

Even the best of plans don’t always go the way you want them to, I suppose.

Flint loomed over me, his coarse black hair was cut short military stile, widening his sneer. “And I can’t say I’m surprise that you are still such an old hag, Montieth.”  I pouted for effect, battling my eyelashes at him. “Perhaps if you opened your legs more often you’d stop being such a cow. I could offer my services for the good of the community-,” disgusted, I inched closer towards Adrian. It is always a good idea to have a shield when you are about to poke a sleeping dragon. Except, I didn’t need a shield.

Honestly, Gryffindor’s chivalry can be so excruciatingly _simpleminded_.

“That’s not the way you treat a lady, you big brute,” Wood had come from behind us, having just excited the shop Adrian was leaning against. I rolled my eyes, counting the seconds it would take for Flint to draw out his wand or fist.

He surprised me by doing neither. “Well, well, well; if it isn’t our favorite little kitty,” Flint licked his teeth with his tongue, his eyes never leaving Wood. Beside me Adrian chuckled. “Planning on winning a Quidditch cup before you graduate?”

“Three sickles Flint wins,” Adrian whispered so only I could hear. One quick look at both captains said it all.

“Bugger no, I happen to enjoy having gold.”

 “Sickles are made of bronze, Liz.”

I elbowed Adrian just as Wood spoke. “Planning on graduating, Flint?”

“Is that supposed to hurt, Woody?” Flint said. “You think you touched a sore spot?” Nearby laughter made me jump. I looked past Flint’s menacing figure to see the two Slytherin beaters –Lucian Bole and Peregrin Derrick- walking towards us. They looked like two gorillas holding bags full of bananas.

“So what is the strategy this year, Flint? Newer brooms, bigger idiots?” he asked pointing at the approaching beaters with his head. Adrian snickered beside me and I bit my lip trying not to laugh out loud either.

“Funny Wood. I could say the same of you ruddy team.”

Wood raised an eyebrow, a cocky smile adorning his lips, “At least my seeker can catch the snitch. I doubt any of your players would be able to win a match even on firebolts.  Speed can compensate for talent only so much,” Flint moved before Wood had finished talking, but I still winced when he punched the Scottish prat straight on the nose. Adrian tensed and grabbed a hold of my arm and, for a brief moment, I thought he meant to protect me if things go out of hand, but knowing him he’d sacrifice me before endangering himself.

Bloody Slytherins.

“Now that’s very mature, Flinty; you could at least wait until he’s on a broom and fifty feet up. I hear a fall that high up usually doubles the chances of a concussion,” I said, digging my nails into Adrian’s arm. He let go of my arm and settled for asking me if I was ruddy insane.

There goes my mouth.

Flint hissed. “No one asked for your opinion, Montieth.”

I shrugged; in for an egg as for a dragon I suppose. “I just figured I should let you know that tidbit of information, seeing how I am the intelligent one in the group and all,” I flipped my hair over my shoulder and put both hands on my hips for emphasis. What I was playing at, I had no clue.

Flint smirked and walked slowly towards me, standing but a few inches away from my face. It took all the Slytherin in me not to flinch backwards, run and never look back. Before Flint could even think of a retort, Wood spoke up.

“Don’t you dare touch her Flint; your fight is with me,” Flint turned around abruptly and in two quick steps had grabbed Wood by the collar of his shirt and pressed his wand against his throat. The beaters moved to stand on either side of Wood, their fists curled menacingly.

Oh dear.

“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t hex the living life out of him, Montieth. And make it a good one, I am feeling merciful today.”

I stared straight into Flint’s eyes with my own, refusing to show weakness. Slytherins usually reacted in similar fashions, and it made predicting someone else’s behavior somewhat easier. I knew just what to do to tick Flint off. I flipped my hair once again, put a hand on my waist and waved my other hand at him disdainfully. “You know what Flinty? Your petty little show is getting bored. I think I’m going to go count pebbles on the other side of the street,” and walked away.

I had only enough time to hear Adrian’s quiet chuckle and Flint mutter ‘women’ before throwing another punch in Wood’s stomach or jaw. It sounded like he hit bones, so probably the later. I walked all the way to the bookstore, keeping a steady pace and forcing myself not to look back. I knew Flint wouldn’t kill Wood, not in broad daylight at least. I also knew that he wouldn’t do something unless he could get a kick out of it.

So I made a bee line towards the empty bench and sat there. Only then did I risk a glance backwards, under the pretense of tying my long hair up. The Slytherin’s were gone, and Wood was massaging his jaw. Good thing his mum wasn’t around, she’d have a heart attack if she saw how her precious little boy looked like. I vacillated between going over and helping him, but thought it was best if I didn’t –besides my feet really hurt. Soon enough, and right on time, I heard him calling for me.

“Sarah,” he said taking a seat next to me. He was clutching his nose with his hand, the front of his white shirt stained with fresh blood. I cringed. “Thanks for your help, I honestly owe you one.”

“You are such a baby.”  
“And you are such a bitch.”

I jerked my head and looked at him, puzzled and vaguely outraged. “What did you just call me?” I was used to being called that. In fact, in fourth year Adrian actually began giving me a knut every time someone called me that. I had enough for a beautiful pair of shoes by the end of the first term. But from Wood? All I usually got from him were lesser insults; somehow he seemed to believe I had enough human in me to be salvable.

“Don’t act like you are surprised, Sarah,” he said with a glare. “I was doing the right thing and then you go and give Flint ideas on how to murder me.”

“Give you a concussion,” I corrected.

He rolled his eyes.

I let out a frustrated breath, letting my head fall backwards. “What do you want, an apology?”

“How about you try some manners? It would make for a nice change.”

I grunted and closed my eyes. I could hear him playing with his broken nose and it made me want to throw up. I bit my lip, feeling that horrible wave of … (I think they call it guilt, but I might be mistaken) flooding over me. “Show me your face,” I said while fishing my wand.

He watched me eerily, his hand still placed protectively over his nose. “Why?”

“You wanted some civility, I’ll show you some civility, now let me see your nose,” I grabbed his hand and forcefully pushed it away. To give him some credit, he didn’t even flinch. “Episkey,” I said, pointing at his nose with my wand. A cracking noise told me the bones that successfully rearranged themselves. It still looked swollen, but there wasn’t much more I was able or willing to do.

Wood touched his nose, a look of awe on his face. “How did you-?”

“If you paid attention to class instead of doodling Quidditch plays on your parchment you would know that spell too.” He rolled his eyes and proceeded to clean his shirt with his own wand. At least he had paid attention in that class, I thought ruefully. “For the record, I _was_ trying to help you out there even if your tiny little brain couldn’t see it.”

“Can’t you ever just say you’re sorry?” I shook my head. He sighed. “I should take the nose fixing as your apology, correct?”

I nodded. “And don’t get used to that either.”

“You’re impossible to deal with, you know?” he said with a small smile.

“I must’ve missed a couple of crucial social lessons. Although, just so you know, that bitch comment? It stung.”

“Really?” how endearing, he sounded concerned.

I snorted. “Of course not, don’t be a pinhead.”

“Lisa! Oliver?” I looked up to see Gwendolyn carrying three humongous bags full of books – one of which was actually moving. Wood, being the chivalrous git he is, was instantly on his feet, wordlessly taking Gwen’s bags from her. Doesn’t he ever get tired of it? “What are you doing here?”

“Finishing up my shopping; bumped into your dear cousin,” he shot me a cocky grin to which I replied with a small sneer.

“What happened to your nose?”

He shrugged. “Long story. Are you done? How about I buy you girls some ice-cream?”

Although, chivalry does buy you ice-cream.

 


	4. Beseeched

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No one else could understand a Slytherin’s nightmares like another Slytherin.

Platform nine and three quarters was the usual chaos. Parents of nervous-looking first years were busy fussing over their children. Some mothers were openly crying, while the fathers were getting an awful lot of eyelashes into their eyes. You could always easily distinguish the pureblood Slytherin families in this kind of scenario: they are the ones that look as stoic as a marble statue.

Like mine.

“Now Elizabeth, do _try_ to behave this year. I don’t want to get any owls saying that you hexed someone or-” the rest of Aunt Adelaine’s message went unheard. I had it memorized; in fact, last year I even wrote it out and had her read it out loud off of a piece of parchment. It usually went along the lines of “don’t get pregnant and don’t get sent to Azkaban” in that order of priorities.

My father, who had decided to see me off for the second time in seven years, put his hand on my shoulder and steered me away from Aunt Adelaine and Gwendolyn. Francis had been dismissed a while ago and was in charge of securing our trunks. I tried to keep my face emotionless as we began walking down the side of the railroad trucks, my father leading the way with his hand on my shoulder. It felt wrong – almost like it didn’t belong there.

“I suppose etiquette dictates that I tell you not to hex anyone and to behave accordingly to you status as prefect,” he looked around to see if anyone was near enough to eavesdrop before continuing. “But if it is a mudblood, ensuring you don’t get caught would be sufficient.”

I bit the inside of my cheeks, my eyes focused on our moving shadows on the ground. I nodded, knowing that it was what he expected me to do. “Very well,” he continued, releasing my shoulder at last and stopping only when we reached the front of the train – the prefect’s compartment. “How fares young Mr. Higgs? Still being a proper gentleman, I suppose?

Yes, a conniving, lying, cheating little bastard who by the way, never behaved like a proper gentleman if you catch my drift – I wanted to scream. Instead, I had to content myself by a simple half-lie.

I shrugged. “We haven’t spoken much over the summer.” I also burned the last piece of correspondence I received from him and would not hesitate to castrate him should the opportunity present itself.

My father nodded momentarily distracted by all the feathers and pieces of cat fur that were lazily floating in mid-air. “As you well now, Elizabeth, once you graduate there are certain… expectations,” he said almost hesitantly, his blue eyes meeting mine for the first time in our little weird conversation. “However, if your friendship with young Mr. Higgs proceeds suitably, proper arrangements can be made in due time without much hassle. He does come from a respected line, after all,” the corners of his lips turned upwards into a sad parody of a smile. “As an adult, I expect you to understand the important nature of these matters.”

“Must, father?”

He stared at me for a long moment, his blue eyes cool and hard. A knot formed in my throat and I was pretty sure that if I as much as opened my mouth, my entire breakfast will fall out. “I promised your mother I would never force you, Elizabeth. As long as the man you choose is befitting I do not have preference.” His gaze wondered over his shoulder, and I followed it. Aunt Adelaine was fussing over Gwen’s muggle jumper and a few steps behind Mr. Malfoy was sneering. Aunt Adelaine had married pureblood, just not _our_ type of pureblood. “I can always arrange if you desire me to… but I trust your judgment.”

I nodded, feeling my knot move down to my bowel. I fingered the Slytherin Prefect badge I had already pinned to my school robes.

An eerie smile flickered on his lips again before he dismissed me. “Have a good term then, Elizabeth. I’ll expect you home for Christmas.” He nodded in my direction one last time before walking over to where a few of his ‘friends’ were congregated. I restrained myself from sticking my tongue out at him.

Slytherin’s don’t have friends, I reminded myself as I entered the train. Friendship implies trust, and trustfulness and trustworthiness are not Slytherin-compatible.

I tried not to let that bother me too much. After all, I had better things to think about.

Pushing my treacherous thoughts to the back of my mind where they can marinate in peace, I opened the prefect’s compartment door and stepped inside. Prefects from all four houses were already sitting in their segregated groups, possibly catching up on summer’s worthy gossip or discussing Sirius Black. Terrence popped out from the rest like a dragon in uniform in the middle of a Quidditch field.

This was going to be a long, dreadful trip.

A rather pompous drawl catapulted me from my ghastly thoughts and into the fifth circle of hell. “Montieth, glad you could join us,” groaning, I took in the badge that was placed so perfectly on his lanky chest and second hand robes that I could have sworn he measured it with a ruler. Although he didn’t notice it no longer said “Head Boy.”

Sometimes, you have to give those twins some credit.

“Weasley,” I muttered with as much contempt as I could into one single word. A pretty dark haired girl waved at me from behind the resident fool; she pinched his arm the second he opened his mouth.

“Hello Elizabeth, it is so nice to see you. Did you have a good summer?” she said with the most sincere smile I had seen since Wood decided it would be a good idea to go swimming. I controlled the urge to hit my head against the compartment wall. What was it with my thoughts not marinating in the depths of my subconscious, never to be perused again until they resurfaced in a creepy dream or a bout of murdering rage?

“I hope Percy isn’t giving you a hard time,” she shot her boyfriend a meaningful look. He recoiled. I snickered.

“Not yet he hasn’t; then again he’s only said three words,” Penelope covered her mouth to stifle her laugh. What a nice girl like her did with a stuck up, morose, and witless git was beyond logic.

She whispered something in his ear that made his face redden like a ripe tomato. I sneered as I leaned in to whisper not too subtly into his ear. “You really should consider a new hair color, Weasley, it clashes with you complexion every time you as much as think about sex.” I walked away before he could respond mentally high-fiving myself.

How I missed Weasley-the-third-abuse!

A sixth year Slytherin prefect, whose name always seemed to escape me for some reason – I called him giraffe, he had a hilariously long neck- nudged Terrence in the ribs the moment I approached my fellow snakes. The lad in question jumped to his feet and quickly closed the few feet of distance between us. He sported his cashmere, Casanova sexy smile that always gave me a wonderful look at all of his white pearls.

When he said my name, in the same baritone tone that made my legs resemble jelly slugs, my legs turned to figurative jelly slugs. And I ran out of metaphors. “It’s nice to see you, Lisa,” he continued slowly, as one would approach an incoming herd of angry hippogriffs.

I was proud to see a tint of fear in his gorgeous green eyes.

Treacherous, treacherous thoughts

“Wish I could say the same, but you know me, I’m no liar,” take that arshole! I threw him a small sneer as I brushed my shoulder past his on my way to sit with the sixth and fifth year prefect girls. I saw him stare at me from the corner of my eyes.

Elizabeth:1; Terrence:0.

The sixth year prefect, Margaret something something, kept me entertained with the latest gossip, Sirius Black’s most likely whereabouts, and the disastrous final match of the Quidditch league in which the Harpies lost to the Tornadoes. That had been a bollocks match, the Tornadoes bought the referee.

When Weasley and the new head girl (a Hufflepuff, surprisingly) began the meeting, I couldn’t keep myself focused enough not to stare on and off at Terrence from below my eyelashes. Thank Merlin my fringe covered my eyes.

He was leaning forward, the perfect image of an interested prefect. I knew he was sleeping with his eyes open, however. He had that little twitch on his eyes he always got when he slept through Binn’s class without appearing to. His well-defined muscles were visible (and damningly tempting) from his tight, white shirt; his tie was carelessly undone and his sand-blond hair was masterfully messy.

I sighed, closing my eyes for a moment and willing my infatuations to go burn in hell. Terrence was handsome and perfect in almost every way: he was witty, he was pureblood, he was rich and he knew how to play chess (unlike Wood). He was also a sodding charmer and a bleeding good snogger. Basically, he fit the bill for my perfect prince charming if it wasn’t for the fact that he was utterly psychopathic.

But weren’t we all?

I opened my eyes to find him staring at me, and I scowled when he blew me a kiss. His hands went for his heart in mock agony, as he wiped a non-existent tear from his eyes. If Terrence had ever cried, other than during a childhood tantrum, I would get a flabberworm as a pet and call it Mr. Finnicky. Just because.

I flipped him off before pretending to return my attention to Weasley. Like that was going to happen.

Then again, I thought while biting the corner of my lower lip, if I have to marry a bleeding bastard, doesn’t the devil you already know have the home-team advantage?

I sighed, leaning into the seat. Life was hard.

The meeting ended sometime around lunch, and I had successfully not listened to a single word that left Weasley’s chapped lips. I took the parchment with the new password and walked out of the compartment without saying a word to anyone. I did, however, give Penelope a small wave – the girl was the reason I hadn’t failed arithmancy as of yet.

I had walked past two compartments when a hand grabbed a hold of my wrist and pushed inside a newly opened room. I rolled my eyes, having expected Terrence to pull some stunt like this all along. Merlin, he was predictable. I stared at my nails while he threatened a bunch of second years that were playing exploding snap to leave or be hexed – needless to say, they obeyed.

He closed the door behind him and locked it shut. I leaned against the wall, my arms crossed over my chest and a nice looking scowl on my face. Terrence stood before me, just a feet or two away. His face was serious, lacking any visible sign of his usual mischievousness.

 “We need to talk,” he said coming to stand in front of me; I leaned casually against the wall, lifting my chin up. Even in three inch stilettos, the bastard was a good half foot taller than me. Maybe it was time to upgrade to _four inches…_

Focus now Elizabeth; shoe shop later.

“Funny,” I said licking my lips, “That is exactly the phrase _I_ used when I dumped _you_.”

He gave me a crooked grin. “It so happens that our little break up is exactly what I want to talk about, Liz.” His fingers brushed my cheek softly, seemingly not even touching it. It took all the Slytherin in me to suppress a shiver that had nothing to do with the coldness of the wall. “You see, I was hoping we could undo that. I miss you.”

I lifted an eyebrow; my throat was dry and I would have died if he could tell how much those words stung. “You should have thought about missing me _before_ , don’t you think? You know I am not exactly forgiving.”

He sighed, his head lowering momentarily before he looked me in the eyes again. His green eyes were hungry. “I know I screwed up – majorly,” he quickly added. “But I want to make things right. No, scratch that, I _need_ to make things right.”

I scoffed. “Need? That is a rather lofty verb, don’t you think?” Terrence’s body came closer to me the more I tried (unsuccessfully) to melt into the wall. My stomach felt like a bunch of gryndilows were biting it mercilessly “What exactly do you need me for, Terrence? Is your family forcing you to marry before you can get your greedy little hands on your inheritance?” like mine is? I wanted to ask – but perhaps, I didn’t want an honest answer.

Honesty is a dangerous thing. You are almost always better off with a well-crafted lie.

Cold anger flashed through his eyes like a lightning bolt during a summer thunderstorm –it was gone as quickly as it started, but it sure as hell made its mark. “That’s not all of it,” he said lowering his voice and nearing his face to mine so our noses almost touched and I had to struggle to keep his face in focus. “You know very well that what we had went beyond just what is expected of us, Lisa. We learned to care for each other.”

I snorted. “Just what every girl wants to hear, Terrence. _We care for each other._ ” He bridged the gap between us by placing his soft, ever-kissable lips on mine; he left them there, tempting and oh-so-annoying, over mine for the longest of moments before moving back. I held my breath throughout, and I would be damned if I would let him know that despite it all, a part of me still fancied him.

“You have got to be an idiot to think I’m going to take you back just like that.”

“Of course not,” he said with a smile. His right hand reached forward to tuck a piece of hair behind my ear. “I’m expecting you to put me through hell and back before you even consider forgiving me. Just-”he put a finger to my lips to silence my retort. “Just know that I really am-sorry.” He planted another butterfly kiss on the corner of my lips before moving away from me and opening the door.

I sent my angriest glare his way before ducking beneath his arm and crossing the threshold. “Liz,” he whispered in my ear as I walked past him. “I’ll wait whatever long it takes. You are worth waiting for.”

* * *

 

The moment I stepped into the Slytherin seventh year compartment all eyes turned towards me – and my blond companion. Flint was discussing Quidditch tactics with his team (even Malfoy, if you could believe it). Adrian was doing a very bad job of paying attention, although he did send a questioning glance my way which I shrugged.

The two other girls in my year, cousins, Darlene and Willow Blackthorn were holding court with some of the younger girls – mostly fifth and sixth years, although there was a third year in there too for good measure. Willow gave me a small wave for way of a greeting before returning to her conversation. Her head snapped back towards the door a second later, her short auburn hair bouncing around and a look of pure confusion marrying her pretty little features. I ignored her.

Darlene, all six feet of pure dyed-blond evil didn’t even look up. Her shrill laugh echoed in the small compartment making my ears hurt. I rolled my eyes as I took a seat near Willow, and far away from Terrence. Darlene was going on about some nose job or something. When she noticed my presence, she threw me a nasty sneer which I kindly returned.

“Well, well, well, little snow white gained some color this year. Got bored of the banshee costume, Montieth?”

“Indeed I did,” I said grabbing a copy of Witch Weekly that was lying nearby. “Although I have to say I really do like what you’ve done to your hair – it makes you look beautiful, almost a pregnant kangaroo with a wig. Did you lose weight?”

Darlene scoffed and returned to her court. Willow shot me an amused glance.

Elizabeth 1; Darlene 0. Perhaps this day wouldn’t turn out so bad after all – I had two points in my favour.

Time went by quite slowly from then on, most of the younger kids had been kicked out or left voluntarily (one of the girls in tears) and by mid-afternoon. Darlene and I kept sharing lovingly nasty glares and sneers over our shoulders once in a while before returning to our own business. When the trolley lady came by, I coaxed Terrence into buying me ridiculous amounts of candy –which he did. He also ended up having to buy food for the rest of the compartment, much to my amusement.

Flint never ceased drilling Quidditch tactics and statistics into his chaser and ex-seeker. Terrence kept throwing small smiles my way, while Adrian make puking faces behind him which made me laugh. He still had slight dark bags under his eyes, not as prominent as they were in Diagon Alley, but enough to make his blue eyes look hollow.

Determined to figure out what  was going on (it wasn’t like Adrian to walk around dishevelled), I left my magazine on the seat and scooped over to sit next to Adrian and poke him in the ribs –gently. He rolled his eyes. “Bored, are you?”  
“How did you know?” I said giving him my best fake-innocent look ever.

“You always act like a three year old high on sugar when you are.” I shrugged and grabbed a piece of his dark hair between my fingers. What can I say? The bloke knows me.

“You know, you’d look far more dashing without those ghastly dark circles,” I pretended to flirt. He rolled his eyes, again, and went back to his Quidditch conversation. I was about to come up with an undoubtedly witty comment when the lights flickered and went off. Seconds later the train stopped with enough strength to make Darlene fall off flat on her ass.

I laughed. No one moved to help her.

“What was that? We can’t be at Hogwarts yet,” Flint said.

“You’d know how long the trip takes, don’t you Flint? You’ve done it _how many times_ now?” I snickered before turning around to look through the window. Adrian was already staring at the rain and ice covered piece of glass. A feeling very similar to dread crawled its way into my stomach.

“Dementors,” Adrian whispered; his blue eyes finding mine. I could see my own terrified reflection in them. “Someone lock the door.”

Willow and Terrence jumped to their feet at once. She charmed the door shut while Terrence leaned his body weight against it. I scoffed at his stupid attempt at gallantry.

“Why would there be dementors aboard the train?” Darelene asked, grabbing a hold of Willow’s right arm and forcefully pushing her down on the seat.

“They must be searching for Sirius Black you big twit. Now shut up, I’m trying to listen.” Flint said. He had his wand out as did Adrian. I quickly removed mine from the inside of my robe’s pocket and held unto it as if it were a lifetime which, in a way, it was.

We waited.

Adrian’s left hand walked across my lap and grabbed my left hand; I squeezed his sweaty palm all the while feeling like my heart was going to explode. My eyes found Terrence’s; he looked petrified, but had enough coherence to nod in acknowledgment.

We heard the rustle of robes outside the compartment. Terrence froze; his wand fell to the ground, making a dead sound. No one moved; only our breath and Willow’s small, quiet whimpers could break the dense silence. I buried my head on the crook on Adrian’s shoulder and closed my eyes tightly. My wand hand was shaking.

I could hear rather than see the chandelier as it swayed precariously above our heads. My body felt numb and cold; Adrian’s head landed on top of mine and I was grateful for the small source of heat.

Images and sounds, memories I wished would vanish in a wisp of smoke, kept plaguing my mind like flies on a corpse. My throat constricted as I held in a sob. Beside me, Adrian felt frighteningly cold. Memories can do that to you –consume you, drain you, defeat you. There is nothing more dangerous that your own unchecked demons, your own forgotten little horrors.

Faster than it had all started, it ended. The lights began to flicker again, only to become fully alight seconds later. The temperature began to rise, although my skin was still stone cold and full of goose bumps. For a long moment no one moved. I was acutely aware of Adrian’s sweaty hand grasping mine, the rise and fall of his chest, and the silky feel of his hair against my forehead. I clung to those details.

Hope is in the details.

We all stood there, alone yet together, inside our own worlds trying to tame the beast that you could never let of the leash. I took a moment to relish the sweet irony of it. We were all always at each other’s throats, trying to outsmart the other and usurp their power. We never let our guards down, we never considered each other friends. And yet, the only people who could understand what it feels to have your personal traumas thrown into your face were sitting around me.

No one else could understand a Slytherin’s nightmares like another Slytherin.

But we never talked.


	5. Flirted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gryffindors are so much fun to mess with.

Dumbledore couldn’t shut up fast enough. I can say I wasn’t having a good evening. First, the dementor attack. I mean what the bloody hell? Secondly: Darlene, shrieking and wailing like a cat in heat – and that is perhaps the most accurate simile I’ve ever some up with. But now, _Dumbledore_ , had to speak for fifteen straight minutes while I sat hungry, soaked, and in a very bad mood waiting for food to appear.

Next to me Adrian was trying his best not to fall asleep on my shoulder, while the rest of Slytherin table laughed covert laughs at Draco Malfoy’s theatrics. I sincerely hoped the kid stuck to the family business; he had no future in the acting arts.

I sighed and buried my head in my hands the moment the Sorting Hat, who had replaced our beloved headmaster, sung the qualities and whatnots of the four houses.

 _Boring_!

As soon as food appeared I dug in with the enthusiasm of a thirteen year old boy (and with about the same amount of grace, no doubt). All around me people were gossiping, chatting, or plain old plotting – but I was eating and very content at hat. Only after I had swallowed nearly three quarters of food I looked up to see Terrence staring at me.

“What?” I asked and drank some pumpkin juice to help me with that last bit of roast beef, “Have you never seen a girl eat before?”

He laughed and dug his knife into his meat, “Not like that, no. Are you sure you should be calling yourself a girl? I thought Flint was the only one with troll blood.”

I glared at him and threw him a bit of potato. He dodged it easily, and winked at me. I hid my face in my food once again and didn’t resurface until the feast was over. Thanking the unspoken hierarchy, it was the fifth year’s prefect’s job to escort the little ones to the common room. I was thankful because by the time we were dismissed, I was had a food baby, an ex-beau who was trying too desperately to get back on my good side, and a forlorn sidekick who hadn’t spoken a word since we left the train.

I looked up to the enchanted ceiling as we walked out of the Great Hall and wondered if first days back had always seemed so gloomy.

Then I bumped into someone – not a big surprise considering I wasn’t looking where I put my feet. Nevertheless, I looked down to yell at whoever was slow enough to cause me to walk into them when I felt all my food rush up to my throat. Bugger, bollocks and bullshit!

Wood patted my head with that hideous hand of his, an amused smile on his lips. “Are you alright there? Did bad dementor make you sleepy?”

I would’ve been sleepy if he hadn’t made me feel like a three year old but oh well. “Move,” I said low and even, but I’m sure I probably sounded like an angry chihuaha.

Terrence was right behind me in a split second. “Watch where you are walking Wood. Gryffindor can’t afford to start the term with minus points, can it?”

Wood shrugged after mouthing ‘seriously?’ my way. “Last time I checked we’ve been doing pretty well these past couple of years. When was the last time Slytherin won the cup? Oh yes, I remember now: it’s irrelevant.”

Terrence took a step closer, encircling me with one arm and squishing me between his chest and Wood’s. All in all, not a particularly discomforting place to be, but I wasn’t in the mood for Terrence’s sad attempts at being my prince charming or Wood’ inbred arrogance.

I rolled my eyes as they continued to exchange death threats. Those two didn’t have a single bone of originality in their bodies. “If you’ll excuse me, _gentlemen_ ,” I said elbowing Terrence and pushing Wood away simultaneously (how’s that for multitasking?) “You two can continue to assert your masculinity, but I’m going to sleep.” And without further ado, I walked by them and was well on my way across the entrance hall towards the dungeons. I would’ve arrived there before most of my classmates, hadn’t it been for the stupid Gryffindor Captain who just couldn’t take a hint.

“Sarah wait!” Wood caught up with me, grabbed me by my shoulder, and twirled me around so I had to face him. I did so with a deep scowl and a childish pout. “I really just wanted to see if you were alright. That whole dementor-in-the-train thing was quite a scare.”

I raised an eyebrow. “I am _fine_ , Wood. Don’t you think it is a little extreme of you to come chasing me just for that?” He shrugged and let go of my arm.

“Well then, in that case, I guess goodnight,.”  He walked away and I stood at the same spot confused, before understanding caught up with me. I groaned. He really needed to take things less seriously, I told myself as I resumed my walking. Before I reached the stairs that would take me down to the dungeons, I turned around to look over my shoulder.

Wood was standing talking with a fellow Gryffindor’s. He was laughing at what a petite brunette said. My eyes had just narrowed into serpent slits when Wood looked my way. Quickly recovering, I blew him a kiss before turning around, making sure to make my hips sway as I walked.

Gryffindor minds are so much fun to mess with.

* * *

 

The next morning I had a free period before Defense Against the Dark Arts. Which is why I arrived to the empty classroom a good fifteen minutes early. I took a seat near the front and next to a window. What can I say? I am a dork who enjoys being regularly updated about the local weather. I grabbed the class textbook and began to read chapter 3 since I had read the first two during my free time.

People wandered into the classroom much sooner than I would have liked. Adrian and Flint took the seats behind me (with the futile hopes that perchance I’d let them copy) and were blabbering like hyenas. I closed my book shut and placed it on the desk. The clock on the front of the room said that the professor was now officially five minutes late. Shrugging, I stretched my arms before turning around to see what all the fuss was about.

“I don’t know, Pucey, she certainly has a beautiful ass but her face rivals that of a troll,” said Flint scrutinizing a red-headed Ravenclaw.

“I thought you had troll blood yourself, Flint. You two might just be a match made in heaven,” I said absentmindedly staring at my nails. They needed a do-over.

“Sod off, Montieth,” spat Flint. I chuckled, while Adrian gave me a half-hearted smile. “How about that one? Filthy mudblood, of course, but the behind does match the face,” he pointed towards a group of giggly Gryffindors arranged in a circle.

Sitting in the middle, like a princess and her court, was Abigail Williams. Yes, like the little brat who caused the Salem witch hunt or what not. Williams argued that she was not related to her rather infamous American-name-twin, but I begged to differ.

“Williams?” I snorted, placing my head on my arm and drawing invisible circles on the wooden desk with my other hand. “She looks like a mouse. Really, she’s completely unremarkable, her hair color is just ghastly and her features are, well, _mousy.”_ I said, eyeing Williams with half-closed eyes. She wasn’t completely unremarkable, she did have the right fat deposits which I lacked, but I would bet my inheritance her patronus would be a mouse.

 “Mousy? Are you running out of adjectives, Montieth, or are you just annoyed that she’s better looking than you?” I narrowed my eyes and stuck my tongue out. Who needed Flint’s approval, anyway? He would probably shag a goblin if given the opportunity. I pity the woman who’d be encouraged to marry him.

Flint snickered and continued trying to drive Adrian back into the conversation but Adrian was responding only half-heartedly. I decided to poke him in the arm to see if I could get some reaction out of him, but all I got was a warning look. He pushed my hand away; his hands were as cold as Snape’s dungeons in the middle of January. I wanted to annoy him until he spilled the guts but I just couldn’t quite find the energy to do so.

The combined sound of creaking wood and Flint’s voice brought me back to the real world. “What the bloody hell do you think you are doing, Wood?” my ears perked up, and I looked up to see the thankfully one and only Oliver Wood staring down at Flint with an obvious I’m-about-to-sit-in-my-sodding-seat-you-big-mountain-troll look splattered all over his face.

I glimpsed a dash of blond somewhere from the back, and assumed that Terrence had decided to stay out of the man-fight for the seat next to me. I wasn’t quite sure how I felt about that.

“Mr…?” said an unfamiliar voice. I extended my neck to see professor Lupin standing behind Wood andstaring calmly at Flint.

A little too calmly, if you ask me.

Flint bared his teeth. “Flint.”  
“Mr. Flint,” Lupin repeated with a smile, “Perhaps I am outdated, but that was not proper vocabulary for an educational setting. However,” he paused and looked over to the large clock. “Considering the fact that I am ah… fashionably late, and it is our first class, I will not deduct points. Please, do sit down,” he motioned for both Flint and Wood to take their seats; Wood did so with a superior smirk and a flirtatious wink. I rolled my eyes and straightened my posture, grabbing a quill and parchment from my bag while I was at it. I could hear Flint plotting murder behind me.

“Now,” said Lupin, “Put your books away. This will be a practical lesson. And,” he added staring at my hissing companion snakes and a smiling Wood, “The seats you have chosen today will remain yours for the remainder of the year. Now, follow me.”

A nasty smile spread through my face as I hurried to re-pack my supplies. It would seem I had just killed a bunch of birds with one spell: one, having Flint and Wood in such proximity could be highly entertaining in the future; two, it showed Terrence that he’d have to work a little bit harder; and three, it made Williams go livid.

* * *

 

That Friday evening I was hiding in a far off corner of the library scribbling at a piece of parchment. All of the professors seemed to think we had done nothing during the summer vacation, and therefore we should be flooded with homework on the first few days to help us “get back into the swing of things”, as McGonagall had so charmingly put it.

And considering the fact that my mere existence in this school relied on my continuing to be the brightest witch of my year, I was stuck finishing my arithmancy work while the rest of my house enjoyed a stag night.

I began doodling on the side something that looked an awful lot like a snitch. I inspected my little artwork before tossing it to the side and giving completing this assignment another shot. Penelope Clearwater had explained the basics of it, but since she happened to have a boyfriend, she had left me an hour ago to go spend time with him.

I still think I got the better end of the deal, to be honest.

I had done a considerable amount of progress to the point in which I thought I could actually finish this thing before the sun went down when someone sat in front of me. Of course, I felt vaguely irritated since I had chosen the most far off place in the entire library, but considering I was almost done, I couldn’t be bothered.

A few minutes went by in which I completed two more sets of problems (only three more to go! I could practically taste the tart firewhiskey burning in my throat!) when the person in front of me spoke. “You know, there is a word most people use to acknowledge each other’s presence. I believe it is ‘hello.’”

“I think its runs more along the lines of ‘what the hell do you want, Wood?” I said raising my eyes from my parchment to look at him.  He shrugged and pointed at his transfiguration homework and a piece of parchment so messy it looked almost entirely covered in black ink. “Whatever; just keep quiet, I’m almost done,” and I want to get pissed.

Some minutes passed in which I wrote a paragraph or two, and Wood managed to bite his quill then write something then scribble over it, then bite his quill once again only to scratch and rewrite. Scratch and rewrite. Scratch and rewrite. I was going insane.

“Wood, either you decide an angle and go with it, or you stop wasting parchment and save a small goat,” I said, accidentally spilling some of my ink on a book. I cleaned it up quickly with a wave of my wand, my eyes never softening their glare.

He gave me a small smile as an attempt of an apology. I rolled my eyes and got up from my seat to the one next to him. “What are you trying to study anyway? How to create fire the muggle way? ”

“Transfiguration…” he said not meeting my eyes.

I chuckled. “Transfiguration? It’s not a particularly complicated assignment, is it? I mean, it’s only two parchments long, and O.W.L.S. review.”

“I know, but I’m not particularly good at transfigurations either.”

“And you got into N.E.W.T. level classes how…?”  
He shrugged and smiled. “The witch that evaluated me at O.W.L.s thought I was good looking.”

I stared at him in disbelief, my mouth hanging open. “You mean… you passed your O.W.L.s with _Exceed Expectations_ because the witch that evaluated you thought you were _cute_?”

He nodded, that damned smile still plastered on his face. “Pretty much.”

My body dropped back on the seat. “Damn,” I whispered, twirling a lock of coal black hair around my finger. “Not even I thought about seducing my way through my education.”

He laughed. “It’s not like I _seduced her_ , you know? I just… flirted a little,” he finished off with a wink. I couldn’t resist the urge to roll my eyes.

“Please Wood, you wouldn’t know what flirting was if it stared at you with a dictionary,” I said with a small sneer. Wood’s smirk increased dangerously as he leaned forward to push a few locks of hair away from my ear. He brushed his lips briefly across my jawline, making me inhale rather sharply. His moist breath tickled my ear, sending shivers down my spine.

His voice was husky when he whispered. “Are you sure of that, Sarah?”

My heart was racing and I was acutely aware that my lips had parted open. Thankfully, I was a master actress. I shoved him hard away from me, and he leaned backwards laughing merrily. I glared at him with all my might as I punched him on the arm one more time for good measure.

I yanked his parchment away from him to try and decipher the hieroglyphs he had written there. My cheeks were burning and I inwardly cursed bad genes. “Why are you stealing my homework from me now? Can’t resist the charm, can you?”

I rolled my eyes, my heart was till beating erratically and I thought it may be about to collapse. “No, but I know you well enough to know you’re not going to go away any time soon – and I might as well get my transfiguration homework over with.”  
“Sure, keep telling yourself that, Sarah.”

Arshole.

 


	6. Brokenhearted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “The last card is Justice,” I heard Willow say.
> 
> “Isn't that supposed to be a good card?”
> 
> “Probably not.”

The rest of the weekend had gone far smoother than the first few days. After my impromptu study group with Wood, I made my way back to the common room in a hurried haze. I dumped my books and bag over my bed, and I didn’t even bothered to change from my school uniform. I rushed downstair where I stole a bottle of firewhiskey right off Flint’s hands and chugged it down. There were pinpricks on my skin that needed a quick, intoxicated death.

After beating everybody who dared at chess, I spent the rest of the evening talking with Willow over some much needed Tarot Card readings. Unlike Trelawney, the old fraud, Willow could make sense of the bloody deck – and she was my first stop whenever I wanted an issue clarified. Of course, in accord with Slytherin morality, I never actually told her what it was that she was reading, so she was left with generic and vague interpretations that somehow always ended up being spot on.

That night was no different.

It was close to three in the morning and we were back in our dorm. I was alternating between drinking and painting my toe nails a dark purple. The night had been boring. No fights had broken out, no conga lines had magically appeared, and I couldn’t even have a good laugh with Terrence and Adrian. Terrence… well, he had tried his best to be all gallant and all but he had drunk too much too soon and was still on the sofa, unconscious.

Adrian had given me a curt nod from his position in a secluded corner after I walked in, and then had gone back to his dorm. I didn’t know what to make of it, and it was starting to get on my nerves.

One of these days, I’d have to confront the buffoon.

“The devil!” Willow squeaked, making me lose my grip and paint my toe as well as my nail. She was engrossed in reading my cards, and I had honestly lost interest about four cards ago. Darlene, who had spent the last hour changing her hair color back and forth, looked up from the place in front of the vanity. “In the future position,” Willow went on trying to regain her composure and mystique.

Darlene let out a shrill, throaty chuckle. “Well, that’s not too hard to interpret,” no one answered her. “I mean, it’s obviously Terrence,” she threw me a venomous smile which I returned in kind, vanishing the extra nail polish with a swish from my wand.

While Terrence _was_ definitely evil, I sure as hell hoped he wasn’t what Willow was reading. At least not for the near future. Maybe later in the future.

Willow’s forehead furrowed as she traced the iron chains that connected the poor lost souls to the devil in the picture. I stared at her, waiting for her to contradict Darlene. It’s not like I cared about this whole tarot-reading-thing, Divination is an incredible unstable stream of magic. I just wanted her to contradict Darlene, for the hell of it. “The Devil is about ambitions; it’s an obsession, something you want, but shouldn’t or can’t have.”  
Darlene’s snort annoyed me like nothing else had that evening. “Go on,” I urged Willow before allowing Darlene an opportunity to spread her poison.

“Terrence is a past obsession,” Willow said, “This card is in the future.”

I didn’t know whether to feel relieved or mortified. Darlene put her brush down and sat down on Willow’s bed, tucking her long legs beneath her. “An obsession is an obsession – and when the desired object is unattainable, it is impossible to let go.”

I pretended to ignore her, willing my hand not to shake as I finished off my nails. “Unattainable? I’m sorry, weren’t you in the common room when he was practically serenading her with a Celestina Warbeck song?” I lifted my eyes to sneer at Darlene. She pushed herself off the bed and walked towards her own.

“But how long could she keep him for?” she asked, staring me straight in the eye over her shoulder before closing the curtain of her bed. Willow threw me a warning glance; I looked down only to find my wand had made its way to my hand and was currently pointing at the closed emerald curtains.

Bugger.

“Probably, for as long as it takes you to take off your panties,” I muttered, tucking my wand beneath my legs to keep it out of my reach – for the moment.

“I’d be careful if I was you,” Willow said, looking at me. “The Devil could be constructive, but it is usually more destructive, especially if it comes in the form of a person.”

I yawned, a little bored with this doomsday predictions. I had hopes Willow wouldn’t follow Trelawney’s steps, but alas! Maybe it runs in the psychic-wannabe gene. Without replying, I made a small nest for myself beneath the warm blankets and magically began moving the curtains around my bed.

“The last card is Justice,” I heard Willow say.

“Isn’t that supposed to be a good card?”

“Probably not.”

* * *

 

“Don’t you look lovely this morning,” Gwen said as she candidly took a seat at the SLytherin table. It was unreasonably early by Saturday morning standards (read: 8:00am), and our glorious table was almost empty except for a few first or second years. They are all short enough that I get them confused. “Tough night?”  
I eyed her from half-closed eyes that had still not grown accustomed to the early morning brightness. Adrian beside me was buttering up some toast, looking as alive as Sir Nicholas over there. Gwen, on the other hand, looked as pristine as an angel; blond curls bouncing perfectly over her shoulders as she helped herself to some pumpkin juice.

“What do you want Gwen? It’s too early for your brand of sarcasm,” I said trying to pour some tea on my cup and missing by several inches. “Bugger.”

Gwen shrugged and took a small, dainty bite out of a piece of toast. “I just figured you’d want to be informed of the newest gossip before the castle had a chance to wake up.”

I nodded at her while absentmindedly pouring about five teaspoons of sugar on my tea; I planned on putting enough sugar that I didn’t need to stir. Stirring only gave me headaches. “Go on, I’m all ears.”

“It’s not ears I care about, it’s eyes,” she said turning to the side to give us a clear view of the Gryffindor table.

There, in what I am sure must be the most despicable event to ever grace human eyes, were Oliver Wood and Abigail Williams happily attached by the tongue. I spit my half-cold tea at the same time as Adrian choked on his piece of bacon.

Gwen’s laugh seemed a bit forced as she finished off her juice. She grabbed her half-eaten toast and stood up with all the grace of a bleeding ballerina. “I just thought you’d want to know. Ta-ta! I’m off to torture Francis!” she waved and left in a blur of golden hair.

“She’s quite the character, your cousin,” Adrian mumbled after we had both regained our breath (I don’t think my eyes would ever recover, however). I nodded as I took another sip of tea, and gagged. I had put way too much sugar.

Bugger.

* * *

 

Monday morning saw me in transfiguration. I was seated between Terrence and Adrian, with Willow one row ahead of us, stuck with two Ravenclaws the lucky duck. McGonagall was handing out our assignments while Weasley distributed the pigs.

I massaged the back of my neck as I listened to the odd cry of glee and the much more common groan of disappointment. Adrian nudged me in the arm when our assignments arrived. I took a quick look at it before feeling a rush of relief wash over me: ‘O.’ Terrence was leaning over my shoulder to get a look at my mark, and I didn’t bother to cover it up. Let him drown in jealousy.

“Damn, Lisa.”

I know, I know.

I creened my neck to look at Adrian’s, but he pushed the piece of parchment into his bag before I could take a good look. I pouted at him, a technique that normally worked, but he just kept staring straight ahead.

Crossing my arms across my stomach and breaking my previous perfect posture, I hunched over and proceeded to imitate him. A movement on the corner of my eye made me look that way, and I saw Wood smiling at his new girlfriend, a big ‘E’ written in red over his parchment.

I’d have to charge him for that.

That evening I was determined to find out what had Adrian’s knickers in a bloody twist.

I told Terrence to bugger off and go have dinner with Flint or someone equally disgusting, and kidnapped Adrian to sit next to me on the edge of the table closest to the teachers where no one ever sits. He sat down begrudgingly, probably more out of curiosity than actual fear of my tactics.

“Spill,” I said, my fingers grabbing the edge of the table hard enough to get rid of any circulating blood. My arse was just slightly off the seat, and I was leaning sufficiently forward that my nose was less than a feet away from Adrian’s fringe.

The bastard proceeded to get some potatoes on his plate. “Spill what?”

“Whatever the hell is wrong with you.”

He raised an eyebrow and offered me a smirk as he threw a bit of carrot on my face. “Many things, in fact. Would you like them alphabetically or in order of importance?”

“Neither,” I said through gritted teeth and wiped my cheek with a napkin. “I only care about whatever’s been making you act like Moaning Myrtle these past few days.”

He sighed and took a long sip of his pumpkin juice. “Nothing really; I’ve just been tired that’s all.”  
I cocked an eyebrow, leaned forward and pushed his fringe behind so I could lock my eyes into his blue ones. “You are a fantastic Slytherin, Adrian; but you can’t lie to me.” He wiped my hand away rather forcefully. “C’mon, whatever it is it cannot be _that_ bad.”

“There is nothing to talk about, Elizabeth. Everything is _fine_ , and if something isn’t, then I think it is just a pigment of your imagination,” he got up, throwing his napkin over his half-eaten dinner. I chased after him as he practically run the length of the Great Hall in record time.

He never called me Elizabeth, it was always “Lizzie” or “Liz” or “Lisa” or “you bitch” but never _Elizabeth_.

“Fine!” I yelled the moment I caught up with him at the stairs, “Go bugger yourself then! Don’t tell me; it isn’t like I care or anything!”

Adrian spun around, and retraced his steps to stand two steps below me. He was eyelevel with me. “What do you want?”

“I want you to tell me what the hell is going on.”

“You want to know, Lisa? You can’t handle it,” he said, his wide eyes making him look slightly insane. His hands shot up to his head where they balled amongst locks of black hair.

“Try me.”

“You can’t,” he repeated as he turned around and began walking back towards the common room. “Because I don’t trust you to keep the knowledge to yourself.”

If he had slapped me, it probably would’ve stung less. I stood by the edge of the stairs, frozen; my eyes slightly widened and watered. I don’t know for how long I stood there, glaring at the empty spot. I only came back when I felt a hand on my arm.

“Are you ok, Liz?” Gwen said, her tiny hand gripping my upper arm. I shook my head, and wiped my face clean of stray hairs.

“I’m fine.”

Gwen bit the inside of her cheek before speaking. “Perhaps you should get him drunk,” she suggested. “It is easier to get them to spill their guts out when they are not thinking clearly.”  
I chortled and messed her hair up, the way I’ve seen Francis do a million times. “That was plan B.”

“I’m sure he didn’t mean it like that.” Numbly, I nodded. “When it comes to matters of the heart, it is usually harder to talk about, don’t you think?”

“What do you mean?”

Gwen threw me a disbelieving look. “Oh please; he stinks of a broken heart.”

 


	7. Injured

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One of these days, mark my words, Oliver Wood is going to be the death of me.

##  Chapter 7 – Injured

* * *

Time flew by and before I knew it, September had ended and rolled unto October. Hallowe’en loomed ever so slightly over the horizon, which was continuously getting more cramped by the insane amount of homework I had to do. F _ive_ essays, four feet to six feet long all due next Monday was simply superfluous.

I was attempting to plan my study schedule during History of Magic while brooding over the Adrian-debacle, as I had decided to call it and getting nowhere on either account. I rested my chin on my hand, a quill dangling from my fingers as Binns droned on and on about Merlin knows what. I’d probably have to catch up on that _later_ , but at that moment all I felt like doing was cussing Adrian and throwing him off the Astronomy Tower.

 _Please, he stinks of a broken heart,_ Gwen had said. But I wasn’t sure; I mean did Adrian have an actual heart that could be broken? I’m sure it would have been published in the Prophet or Witch Weekly if he had. I could see the headline: “Discovery of the century, Slytherin Casanova, Pure-blood Snob and Runner Up for the ‘Ultimate Arshole of the Year’ award has actual _feelings._ ”

It gave me the creeps.

After his little revelation, he had been relegated me to the cold treatment or, otherwise known as: from this point onwards, I shall no longer give care. It had worked, mostly; I mean the approach was simple: ignore him, avoid him, and stop thinking about him. I had no problem following the first two parts of the equation; it was the third portion that kept making my life hard.

I just kept noticing these things, these little changes. Like the fact that he was eating actual vegetables.Adrian used to eat as much vegetables as your everyday dragon. Or the way in which he walked with his head down, as if he were measuring each and every step, when before he walked around with his head held high. Although the most telling sign was the fact that in more than a month, he hadn’t told Flint to go eff himself or belittled Terrence’s attempts at courting.

Hell, he didn’t even have _one_ sarcastic remark when Terrence owled me a dozen roses (having forgotten of course that I despise roses) for no reason other than he is as romantic as a Gringotts goblin.

And so, I had spent the last couple of days seeking refuge in the library. Not even Woody visited me anymore, unless he needed help with transfigurations. I suppose his girlfriend and unhealthy obsession with Quidditch kept him very much occupied. Like I care, honestly, I had enough on my plate as it was. Not having to deal with the kitty-prince was a blessing.

I was too far gone in la-la-land, possibly imagining the use of the veritaserum potion on an unsuspecting Adrian, when a rather large ball of parchment hit my head.

Groaning, I untangled the parchment from my hair and laid it flat on the desk. _“You look ghastly, did you buy new under-the-eye eye shadow or are you simply preparing for Hallowe’en?”_

That little arse. With my eyes narrowed, I turned to my side where, sure enough, Wood sat staring at me with his trademark smirk. He wriggled his eyebrows suggestively, making me momentarily nauseous. I dipped my quill into the ink container and scribbled my response before throwing it back to him, and missing his eye by several inches.

Bugger.

I saw him chuckle before a new parchment hit my face again. “ _Seriously though, you look like you could do with some sunlight. What do you say we skip this useless waste of time and go spend some quality time outside?”_

Quality time, with Wood? Too many bludgers to the head. “ _Am I corrupting you, Woody_? _You’re telling me to skip class, and here I was thinking you were the good one.”_

I missed his face, again.

Double bugger.

He didn’t reply; instead he threw me a meaningful look, pocketed the piece of parchment and raised his hand. Binns stopped talking to himself long enough to hear out Wood’s pathetic excuse to exit the classroom. He motioned for me to follow him when he reached the door, and Weasley had gone back to immersing his nose in his textbook.

I licked my lips open, pondering the pros and the cons. Cons: he could get caught and points could get deduced from Gryffindor – I’m sorry, that’s a pro. I looked towards Binns who kept on talking and talking about modern witchcraft history and who-cares. Deciding to do something rash for once in my life (hey, most Gryffindor’s survived, why shouldn’t I?), I threw my books into my bag and simply walked out of the room. I heard Binns screaming “Ms…!” as I left but I didn’t care. What’s the worst that can happen anyway?

Wood was waiting for me down the corridor, leaning against the wall, reviewing a small leather notebook. I rolled my eyes as I approached him. “Scared of the big bad Slytherin Quiddtich team?” I asked, nodding my head towards his small book.

He grinned, before putting the book back into his bag. “Not scared, no; I just figured you’d take your sweet time getting out of class. This is the first time you’ve done this, if I am not mistaken.”

I shrugged. “You are; although I usually just don’t show up.” He nodded and began walking in the general direction of the entrance hall. I quickly tagged along; if we got caught, I could swear I was under the Imperius charm.

“Where do you think you are going?” I asked the moment I caught up with him. He hadn’t been serious about the Quidditch pitch, had he? I mean, it was freaking _October_ – it was cold, and I was wearing a quilt.

“We are going outside, I told you, you could use some serious color on that skin of yours,” he said, stopping long enough to grab my arm and push my robe up, showing a forearm that looked as if it had never seen the sun. “The vampire look is really not that endearing,” I yanked my arm out of his grip and he laughed. “Besides, I’ve been inside for way too long this week; it’s making me go barmy.”

“So the problem’s been claustrophobia all along,” I commented as we approached the Entrance Hall’s doors. “If only I had known that sooner.”

We walked in silence as we crossed the entrance doors. Two dementors were standing on either side of the door. I shivered as the cold sensation of impending doom swept over me. Wood placed his hand on my lower back, urging me forward. Once out of range I heard him mutter.

“Damn those things; Dumbledore is mental for letting be here.”

“Tsk tsk, two swearing incidents in one comment?” I said as I blew hot air into my hands, “Is this a whole new side of you; your _wild side_?” He looked down at me, blushing. “Aww, poor little Woody-poo is blushing,” I said squeezing his cheeks. He groaned in protest and took my hand away. He caressed his cheek as he looked at me through faked offended eyes. I couldn’t help but chuckle when he stung his tongue out at me in the most child-like fashion.

We continued walking in silence until we reached the edge of the forbidden forest, where a little wood cabin was located. A crossbow and a pair of galoshes were outside the front door. “Aren’t we going to the Quidditch pitch?”

“Later,” he said, not stopping nor slowing his pace, leaving me to jog in order to catch up with him. “We are paying Hagrid a short visit, first.” I frowned as Wood knocked on the door and clasped my robe tightly around myself. Stupid wind. A dog barked on the other side. Fantastic.

The wooden door opened and Hagrid appeared, struggling to contain that horrible beast. Compared to _this_ , Wood’s dog was a lady. The thing was trying to break free of Hagrid’s rather massive hold on the collar, whilst sprinkling us with saliva. “Good morning, Hagrid,” Wood said cheerfully wiping his cheek and bending down to pet the animal.

The groundkeeper’s eyes landed on Wood before they made their way to my house Crest, and then back to Wood. “Hangin’ out with Slytherin’s, Oliver? What about Abigail, hm?”

Wood smiled as he got up and removed some dog hair from his pants. “Nothing to worry about. Sarah is like… family.” Where are all the throwing-up-trash-bins when I need one?

“Shouldn’t yer two be in yer classes?” he asked (finally) realizing it was ten in the morning. I was about to comment but Wood nudged me in the stomach.

“We ehm… skipped,” he winced as he waited for Hagrid’s reaction. He just shook his head in a disapproving motion.

“C’mon in, yer two must be cold,” he motioned for us to go inside, still holding tightly to the dog’s leash. I took a quick, rather scared, look at the one-room cabin, and looked over to Wood uneasily. The jerk merely smiled and pushed me in saying “Ladies first.”

I made it a point to get rid of Wood’s gentleman-habits.

I was greeted by the warmth of a fireplace, something I hadn’t expected, but that I most certainly welcomed. I didn’t wait for an invitation, and made myself at home by kneeling by the embers and warming up my frozen fingers. Quickly, I scanned the remainder of the house. It wasn’t nearly as attractive as the warm, bright fire so I paid it no further attention.

“So, what are yer two doing ‘ere?” Hagrid asked as he went over the cupboards to retrieve cups and a teapot. Wood sat on a big, wooden chair by the table and motioned for me to do the same. I frowned, but reluctantly, abandoned the fire and sat next to him. Thankfully, the dog was having the time of its life splattering saliva all over Wood’s robes and paid me no heed.

“Just talking a walk through the grounds, you know, get some fresh air,” said Wood. Hagrid nodded in agreement, probably thinking this an excusable reason not to be getting an education. “Actually,” here we go… “I wanted to show her Buckbeak if that’s alright with you.”

Hagrid dropped one of the half-filled cups on the table, causing the tea to spread around like a cobweb which I had to clear up, since Wood’s hands were preoccupied with that stinking dog. “Buckbeak don’t want anything ter do with Slytherin’s,” he hollered (okay, said), his big beard-covered chin wobbling pitifully.

I snorted. And people wonder why Slytherin’s are the way they are. Didn’t anyone ever think that if good ol’ uncle Voldie had gotten a good hug once in a while he might not have turned out to be such a psychopath?

But Wood, being as dense as his last name wouldn’t settle for a perfectly acceptable ‘no.’ “C’mon Hagrid, she’s not going to hurt him, she’s great with animals,” I choked with my own saliva at the remark. Animals, kids, plants, and basically any living being were out of my ‘I’m good at’ realm.

Hagrid stared at Wood for a long minute, seeming to weight how much he should believe the idiotic, obsessed, and certainly bad for my health captain. “’m not sure, Oliver…”

“What if you supervise us, Hagrid?” Wood said, offering the engorged-hairy-bloke his best puppy face.

Hagrid seemed to ponder the idea for a while, before speaking. “Alrite’, I’ll take yer to him.” Wood smirked in triumph, and I rolled my eyes but before I knew it, the big feathery-furry thing with big, ugly claws and sharp looking peak was before me.

Bloody effing hell.

One of these days, mark my words, Oliver Wood is going to be the death of me.

I stood frozen, with an open mouth and all, staring at the precarious wooden fence that was my only protection at the moment.  Wood, being the impulsive bastard he was jumped the fence and instantly kneeled in front of the ugly beast. I held my breath, my eyes half-closed waiting for the inevitable moment in which Wood would cease to live. However, and much to my surprise, some moments later the hippogriff bend down and Wood started petting him. Hagrid wiped a tear off of the corner of his eye.

“Sarah! C’mon! He’s real nice!” Wood shouted, waving his hand at me while petting the thing’s beak. I gave him my best “no-way-in-hell” look and crossed my arms against my chest.

“Not happening.”

“If she’s scared, she better not approach him.”

I threw the groundkeeper a contemptuous look. Me? A coward? Well, ok, possibly.  I might be afraid of that ugly, dangerous, life-threatening beast, but I was in no way going to admit it. I still have some pride left in me deep within – it was probably already inside my small intestines, digesting breakfast.

Wood walked back to where I was standing hugging my arms to my body. “Come on, if you do as I tell you nothing is going to happen, you’ll see,” he offered me his hand from the other side of the fence. I eyed it distrustfully but he nudged me in the arm, and my eyes met his smile. With one last groan, I accepted it. As my personal advocate, I have yet to see ANY female that can resist those big brown eyes.

I was in no way prepared to what happened next. Grabbing both my arms, Wood forced me to stand on the fence and by pulling me from my waist he managed to make me reach the other side. I clung onto his shoulders trying to regain some balance, my breath and my dignity.

“There you are, see? Nothing bad happened,” he said with that bloody smile of his.

“Yet.”

Wood dismissed my everlasting optimism with a hand wave, and with his two hands on my shoulders, he steered me closer toward the feathery monster. He crouched low, pulling me down in front of him by default; I was too terrorized to argue. “All you have to do is look at him straight in the eye, and try not to blink,” he said, his breath tickling my exposed neck. “Bow your head a little, just like that,” he pushed my head down since my muscles refused to cooperate. I gulped and suppressed a shiver. Why Merlin, why did I have to listen to Oliver Bloody Wood from all people?

I took a deep breath, and tried to block the tickling sensation Wood’s respiration generated on my neck and focus on not dying. I stared into the Hippogriff’s eyes for a while, a long while actually; my eyes were watering as I tried my hardest not to blink. I was starting to get nervous seeing how he didn’t move, instead, the beast seemed to be almost recoiling; if he were human, I would guarantee you he would be about to slap me.

Newest addition to my black list: Hippogriffs.

“Maybe it’d be better if yer back down, Oliver…” I heard Hagrid mutter cautiously, a little scared. I never thought I would be glad to follow his instructions. Wood pulled me back, carefully coaching my movements. I never took my gaze from the hippogriff. He never bowed down for me.

* * *

 

“Now, that was educational” I hissed as we left Hagrid’s house after tea. It was still early, about half an hour before lunch and my bad mood was increasing exponentially.

Wood scratched his chin thoughtfully. “That was rather odd, usually Buckbeak is quite social.”

“Oh I’m pretty sure he must just have been having a bad feather day.”

He shrugged, his strides becoming larger as we neared the Quidditch pitch even though we both knew we wouldn’t make it if we still wanted to catch some lunch. He only did that because he knew I’d have to walk extra fast to keep up. “How are things in Loveland?” I asked, taking in deep, cold breaths.

“Fine, I guess,” he answered, his eyes not meeting mine. Ooh, this was interesting.

“You are going to have to give me more details than that, Woody. It’s been what, a month since you two began dating? Things can’t have gone sour yet.”

“They haven’t. Abigail is a great girl and I do fancy her,” he said, scratching his hair. “There really isn’t that much you can use to spread vile rumours about me.”

Bugger. “And yet, you don’t sound very enthusiastic about it,” I pressed. We had taken a short turn towards the lake. Wood was already making himself comfortable on the hard, cold ground. I eyed with apprehension before he rolled his eyes and laid down his scarf for me to sit on. I accepted rather gladly.

I heard him sigh before he spoke. “I am content; Abigail is a sweet girl, and she’s very understanding,” I scoffed, leaning forward to draw circles with my fingers on the ground. That meant that she didn’t mind being ditched due to endless Quidditch practices. “It’s just nice to have someone you know you can go to when you need to.”

We sat in silence; I was doodling on the ground (with a twig now, in order to make any sort of lasting mark on the earth I’d have to get mud beneath my nails) and Wood was staring off into the distance. All the thoughts I had wanted to avoid thinking about in the past weeks came rushing in. Terrence, Adrian, and the everlasting loneliness of being a Slytherin.

I sighed and I threw the twig away. Could I be content as Terrence’s wife? Would he be dependable when I needed him to? I was torn. A part of me wanted to give in, and give the sodding git another chance – he’d been on his best behaviour since we got back, and on more than one occasion I had to restrain myself from snogging him senseless. But on the other hand, could I become a forgiving person?

And then, there was Adrian. The one other person I thought would be dependable, except he was now reduced to a shadow of his former self. Was it even worth my time worrying about him, when he truly didn’t give a crap?

“We should get going; lunch is going to be soon and I am famished,” Wood said, breaking my trail of thinking. He offered me his hand to help me get up and, after a quick inspection on the state of my arse; we began to walk back to the castle. I shoved his scarf on his face, but he shoved it back into mine. “Are you barmy? Wash it before you return it like that; it’s full of mud.”

I was about to reply, when Wood stopped moving and I collided with his back, his scarf squished between us. I looked up to see what had made him stop when he pulled out his wand hand from his robe pocket, wand in hand.

Five dementors to be exact were nearing in on us. Wood’s left hand reached behind me to push me closer to him. Cursing, I threw the scarf over my shoulder, leaving it to hang there, and fished my wand out. My teeth began to chatter for reasons other than the cold, late autumn air.

 “Can you cast a Patronus?” he asked, his voice a mere whisper. I whimpered, but nodded ever so slightly. At least, I knew the theory behind it. Now was the time to see if the practice would be as simple to comprehend. “Think of something happy,” he commanded. I closed my eyes and tried to come up with a good memory but my mind was blank of such things.

All I could see was my mother’s lifeless stares, as the healers changed her into a clean hospital gown; Adrian’s words rung in my ears, and faded memories of Terrence’s caresses made my skin prickle. And all I could to keep me from breaking down was to hold on to my wand and increase my grip on Wood’s clothes.

The dementors neared at what seemed like an impossibly slow yet quick speed. “Sarah,” Wood’s voice seemed distant, blurry like the grey sky above us. He nudged me, and I looked up. His jaw was oddly positioned, his teeth probably grinding down in the effort not to break into a senseless sob. His eyes were watering, and I realized my cheeks were soaked wet. “Sarah.” I tried to think of last summer, when we were in the ocean, tried to recollect the feeling of safety I had felt that night. I took a deep breath and attempted the incantation.

“Expecto Patronum!” but it wasn’t my voice; it was Wood’s. I was sufficiently conscious to glimpse the silvery bear as it chased the dementors away. Then everything went black.

 


	8. Silenced

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I believe you owe me a story now, Adrian,” I said with a smug smile to hide my almost-genuine concern. “Why have you been imitating Moaning Myrtle minus the actual moaning for the past couple of weeks?”
> 
> Adrian studied me steadily, his blue eyes holding mine. “That, dear Lisa, is a story for another night. You wouldn’t understand half of it – and we both know you are a terror when you don’t understand something. I’d rather not have to go through that.”

## 

“What in Merlin’s name were you doing on the grounds when you were supposed to be in class?” there is really nothing more mood-lifting than a very angry, stressed, hair-sticking-out-of-bun Minerva McGonagall. I took another bite of my chocolate, and looked over at Wood expecting him to come up with something believable. It was his fault I had been out in the grounds; therefore, it was his fault that I was now in the hospital wing because a bunch of dementors were feeling a little under the weather.

At least I got some kickass chocolate out of the situation.

“Detention!” she shouted when neither of us answered. “And twenty points from each of your houses!” she added with a specifically stern look towards Wood who had shrinked to half his size.  If I hadn’t landed a detention as well, I would sure be laughing my arse out at him. I settled for another piece of chocolate. “I must say, I’m very disappointed. Knowing the circumstances… excellent students, both of you…”

“Professor…” Wood began, his voice low, and a painful expression on his face – he looked almost as if he was expecting McGonagall to hit him in the head with her wand at any time. And by the looks of her, that seemed very likely.

The doors opened and Dumbledore walked in. McGonagall wheeled around to talk to the headmaster, her wand clutched tightly in her hand. “Albus!” she practically screamed, “There you have it! Dementors attacked students, Albus. Certainly they cannot stay after this?” I sensed hope in her words and I sympathized.

Dumbledore walked slowly but surely towards our beds, his half-moon glasses reflecting the lights of the candles. Wood cowered even further, as if he was trying to blend in with his surroundings. Fat chance, I thought as I continued nibbling on my chocolate, considering his robes were black and covered with mud and the hospital wing was pristine white.

“I am afraid, Minerva,” he said after tearing his gaze off of us, “that Cornelius does not believe this incident is sufficiently grave to dismiss the dementors.”

“How dare he! They could have administered the kiss if Wood hadn’t casted a Patronus charm!”

Dumbledore’s eyes sparkled as he shifted his gaze towards Wood with interest. “A corporeal Patronus?” McGonagall rolled her eyes in frustration, ah Dumbledore’s teaspoon attention span…

“Ahm…” Wood shifted uncomfortably on his seat, probably trying to be all humble and what not. I rolled my eyes and ate my last piece of chocolate. “Yes, sir.”

“Impressive,” Dumbledore said, “What shape did it take?”

“I believe it was a bear, sir.”

“Was that the first time you ever cast a Patronus charm, Mr. Wood?”

“Yes sir.”

McGonagall stared at Dumbledore and then at Wood; then she exploded. “So what if Mr. Wood cast a corporeal Patronus, Albus?”

Dumbledore smiled ever so slightly, “It is very important that Mr. Wood managed to cast a Patronus, Minerva; it is very advanced magic. I believe Gryffindor should be granted ten points for it, actually.”

I snorted, secretly cursing that I had run out of chocolate. Wood looked at me over his shoulders, and then at his own half-eaten chocolate. Without a second thought, or so it seemed, he handed it over to me. I took it without even looking at him, and began picking at it so I had something to do with my hands. Stupid Wood able to cast stupid advanced charm, stupid Gryffindor getting stupid points…

Our little exchanged didn’t go unnoticed by the headmaster, but then, does anything ever escape the eyes of the old man? He got this twinkle in his eye as he stared at us for a few brief seconds. McGonagall stared at him, and back at us, wondering if she was missing on some kind of inside joke.

At that precise moment, a blur of brown, red and black pushed her way through the two teachers and abruptly bumped into an unsuspecting Oliver Wood.

“Oliver! I was so worried when I found out!” screeched a very hyperactive Williams. I exchanged an annoyed look with the transfiguration professor, before digging into my newly acquired chocolate with a sigh. Wasn’t anybody going to take pity on the poor, abandoned little Slytherin and let her _go_ someplace cat-free? I’m starting to think I’m allergic.

Williams sent me a mocking glare over Wood’s shoulders; her hands were wrapped around his neck tight enough to cut off blood circulation. His face had gone incredibly red. Unfortunately for her, the doors opened again and Gwen rushed in, surreptitiously elbowing Williams out of the way and attaching herself to Oliver. “Lisa! Oliver!” she wailed while she hid her face in his chest. Williams stared at her dumbfounded. I laughed, and I think even Dumbledore chuckled. “I came as soon as I heard! Are you hurt?” her eyes had tactically placed water droplets on the corners, her lower lip trembled perfectly. Williams still looked like the Hogwarts Express had just run her over.

Wood sighed, but patted her shoulder blades with all the affection of an older brother. “We’re fine, Gwen; nothing happened really.”  
“How can you say that?” Williams exploded. I ate another piece of chocolate, and made myself comfortable, this could take a while. McGonagall had also taken a seat, and she was looking at the entire scene rather forlornly while taping her fingers on the arm rest. “You were attacked by dementors! They could’ve-I – I don’t even think about it!”

Williams took hold of one of Wood’s arms and began tugging rather excessively; the more force she used to disengage Gwen from her boyfriend, the harder Gwen held on. Dumbledore seemed amused by the pitiful predisposition of the Quidditch captain: sandwiched between a whiny girlfriend and a very stubborn pre-pubescent girl.

“Really I’m _fine_ ,” he said, perhaps a little more sternly than normally, but then again, Williams was literally trying to pry Gwen’s arm out of his head.

She seemed to realize that she was fighting a losing battle for she let go of his arms and chose instead to stare at him like a wet puppy – before turning her attention to me. “What were you doing out there with that-that trollop?” she screeched, pointing at me with a shaking finger.

I ate another piece.

“Language, Ms. Williams,” Dumbledore reminded her gently, placing a hand on the fuming girl. Gwen’s head snapped up, and she sent me an evil grin which I replied with a roll of eyes. William’s was still glaring daggers at me but hey, it wasn’t my fault his boyfriend was ignoring her in favour of a thirteen year old.

That’s my story, and I am sticking to it.

“OI! Oliver!” everyone turned around to look at the new comer. Fantastic, Francis. “I heard you cast a Patronus! Corporeal Patronus,” he had that stupid smile on his face he got every time he saw Viktor Krum catching a snitch in record time. It made me sick. He punched Wood on his shoulder, slightly shoving a dumbfounded Williams aside. “Nice one, mate,” then he turned to me. “And how the bloody hell did you almost faint?”

That was it. My relative good mood was gone. I shot Francis a nasty glare, jumped of the bed and began walking towards the door. “Ms Montieth,” said a voice that sounded like Dumbledore’s. Sighting, I turned around on my heel, trying to look innocent. “Are you sure you are alright? Perchance you should stay in the hospital wing for a little longer.”

I stared at him, and spoke for the first time in half an hour. “Thank you for your concern, professor, but I am feeling much better now. I am quite sure I can make through the rest of the day.” He nodded without asking any more questions; I quickly smiled at Gwen and ignored the the bloody Gryffindor’s. 

Adrian reached the door of the hospital wing at the same time I did. He was panting, and his cheeks were flustered. “Hey,” he said in between hard-earned breaths, “I just heard, what hap-“ I shoved the rest of my chocolate in his mouth, choking him.

Take that, bastard! I mentally high-fived myself.

Without a backward glance, I made my way towards the Slytherin dungeon. I believed I was in dire need of a quiet afternoon.

* * *

 

“Montieth, did you finish that bloody essay already?”

“No.”

“Are you even near finishing it?”

“No.”

 “Are you going to lend it to me?

“No.”

 “Are you not going to have sex with me?”

“Nice try, Flinty,” it was Wednesday evening, and Marcus Le Flint hadn’t finished his homework. I really don’t know why he even bothers to ask me for it anymore, it’s not like I am going to concede without anything in return.

“Montieth, stop being such a bitch!”

“That would be asking for the impossible, Flint,” Terrence said, sauntering into the room and sitting next to me. I showed him the finger and he laughed it off. Merlin, he was gorgeous when he smiled! No, bad, bad thoughts; focus on your charms textbook, much, much safer.

“Montieth!” screamed Flint, trying to regain our –alright, my- attention, “I demand you let me copy your answers.”

I rolled my eyes, not enjoying his tone, “Say please.”

“Excuse me?”

“Wrong word, Flint, try again.” I tore my gaze from Terrence very kissable lips to stare at Flint; you could almost see his neurons trying to find a way out of the humiliating situation that didn’t include doing the work himself.

“Please,” he muttered through clenched teeth.

I put my hand near my ear to use it as an amplifier, “I’m sorry, Flinty, I must be going deaf. I didn’t hear you. Mind repeating it?”

He glared daggers and me, and was probably already plotting vengeance but for the time being I had the upper chance. “I said please.”

I smiled in victory, not wanting to push my luck too far. “You can start with charms and defense; ask Adrian to give you transfiguration once he’s done,” he got up to search through my books for the correct piece of homework. “And put it back where and how you found it!” I yelled after him. It was his turn to show me the finger. I turned back towards Terrence and we both burst laughing.

“We are late for prefects meeting,” he said, I shrugged.

“By how much?”

He looked at his wristwatch before answering. “About twenty minutes.”

“Let’s leave in ten, then.”

Weasley wasn’t pleased when we walked in, some healthy forty minutes late; but then again I usually went out of my way to displease me, so it really didn’t bother me when he started shouting. I can’t understand how Penelope stands him. She could do _so_ much better. So, I sat down and pretended not to notice Terrence’s knee bumping into mine.

When the meeting was over, we walked back towards the common room together. This wasn’t unusual, as the eldest prefects in Slytherin we usually had to stay behind for a few more minutes of Weasley-mental-bashing. He was chattering nonstop, his arm draped casually on my shoulders. I wasn’t listening; my mind was still recovering from the day’s events and quickly veering towards very dangerous ground.  
Primarily: should I give the bastard beside me another chance?

A part of me screamed no, certain things cannot be forgiving and he should rot in a cell with only Weasley for company. Then again, on the other hand, Terrence could become a valuable asset. The end justifies the means, right?

“So,” I heard him say, only after I noticed we had stopped walking. “Will you go with me? I know it is still rather soon, but I thought perhaps it would be a good start.”

I blinked. “Huh?” Eloquent, Elizabeth, very eloquent indeed.

He smiled, and pushed a few stray hairs behind my ear, making sure to cup my cheek when he was done. “I was wondering, if you’d like to go on a date with me next Hogsmeade visit.”

“There is a Hogsmeade visit?”

Terrence chuckled, pinching my cheek slightly. “I know you like to walk around with your nose in a book, but-“ he couldn’t finish his sentence, because his lips had accidently crashed into mine. I closed my eyes instinctively, feeling my body relax into the comfortable feelings. Could’ve, should’ve, would’ve…?

* * *

 

I woke up to a spinning world. Quite literally too. The snoring was to blame; I thought in my half-asleep, half-awake, one hundred percent irrational state. I turned around, hoping to drown the sounds with the pillow and thus avoid waking up until tomorrow morning when I collided with something. Still refusing to open my eyes, I tentatively began searching the surface.

Silky sheets: check.

Oversized pillows: check

Male body sleeping beside me: check.

Wait, what?

Last night came rushing in to me. After Terrence had asked to Hogsmeade, and I had giving him the most ambivalent answer known to human kind, a switch in his brain had gone off making him think that my incoherent mumbling had meant ‘yes.’ Why is it that men interpret “uhh” as  “I’m yours for the taking?” Then I had the stupidity to forsake my usual lonely study sessions in the library for a bottle of firewhiskey. Terrence had been by my side the entire night, making sure my cup was never empty, and granting me my every whim.

Which is why we ended up in his bed, furiously snogging.

 _Just_ snogging.

Ok, maybe a bit of touching but we hadn’t gone as far as we had in the past. I can’t remember why, but I have the slight suspicion I might have fallen asleep – and since my knickers (and his) were still on, I had to conclude Terrence had behaved surprisingly gentlemanly.

However, without the alcohol-induces haze, I was realizing this wasn’t such a good idea. I sat up, causing my head to want to explode and my stomach to want to vomit. My body fell limp against the soft pillows. And the body beside me murmured something in his sleep that sounded like ”biscuits”. Accepting the fact that I couldn’t see or move an awful lot without setting off my nervous system, I slowly, very slowly, began examining the bedside table that I was sure was somewhere near me. After a few touches of silk and more silk, I touched wood and next to wood there was a glass.

I could almost hear my body screaming for hydration. I once again attempted sitting up, the prospect of some good H2O made the throbbing in my head bearable. Only, the glass didn’t contain water. I recognized the liquid as soon as it landed inside my mouth. I would’ve screamed in pleasure: it was Adrian’s infamous anti-hangover potions!

Merlin, I was saved.

And here I thought the morose arshole had stopped brewing them.

I drunk the whole thing at once; the effect was almost instantaneous. I put the glass back on the table, and wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. My head felt much better now, in fact, it felt awesome. In fact, it felt a whole lot clearer than it had been since that rather unfortunate dementor incident.

Inching my way out of the bed, I buttoned my blouse it hastily and put my jumper back on. Holding my shoes with one hand, I walked out of the room in tiptoes thanking Salazar my quilt was still securely attached and Flint snored enough to cause an avalanche.  I closed the door behind me and began going downstairs, hoping no one would see me.  
No such luck.

Adrian was still awake.

The fire had been reduced to slow burning embers, casting an eerie light across the common room (and making it hard for me to see the stairs). He turned around and his eyes pinned me against the wall when the wood beneath me creaked. I cussed silently.

“Had fun, Lisa?” he said, turning his head to stare at the dying fire, his voice monotone and dead. I didn’t reply, but continued walking down the stairs without bothering with not making noise.

I plopped on a nearby sofa. “Define fun.”

He chuckled, offering me a grisly look before avoiding my eyes altogether. “You know, I always thought you of all Slytherin girls would have some kind of integrity. I guess I was wrong.”

I pretended it didn’t hurt, and adjusted my jumper more calmly. My hands shook. “And I thought you, of all Slytherin blokes, had more balls. Or did they get chopped off when you decided to behave like a mopping teenage girl?”

“I suppose I have been rather taciturn as of late,” he twirled the amber liquid in his glass as he spoke.

“That’s not quite the adjective I would choose, Pucey.”

“You are changing the subject.”  
“Quite successfully, if I made add.”

Adrian stood up and walked near me; I scooped my legs beneath me, releasing my feet from the heels I had hastily put on. He sat down and finished off the firewhiskey. “Now, where were we? Oh yes, your delightful rekindling of you petty romance with Higgs. How did that go? Did he learn any new tricks?”

I pretended to pick at a nonexistent threat on my quilt. “No. And nothing’s been rekindled, for your information,” not that it _is_ any of your business.

“Then what was that spectacle of you forcing your tongue down his throat?” he said, chortling.

I hated it when Adrian was drunk; he made the most insurable comments. “I was bladdered.”  
“No need to tell me that, Lisa.”   
Sighting, I turned around to face him. “As soon as he wakes up, there will be nothing going on between Terrence and me. What happened here tonight,” I waved my hand around for emphasis. “Was a mistake I don’t plan on repeating.”  
“I’d take you more seriously if this were the first time you said it.”

I smirked, “Perhaps you are right, Adrian. But unlike the last time – this time I don’t give a crap what you or anybody else thinks.”  
“And why is that?”

“Because I know better now,” I said with finality. Terrence wasn’t for me. All the time his hands were on my body, all my cells were screaming in disgust. I could never let him kiss me, see me, or touch me like before. When it came down to it, I’d have to face the consequences, but there was nothing in my father’s arsenal that would be worse than going to bed beside that slimy prat every night, till death do us part.

Unless, of course, he asked me to marry Flint – because that would just be gross. I’m not into inter-breed mating.

“I believe you owe me a story now, Adrian,” I said with a smug smile to hide my almost-genuine concern. “ _Why_ have you been imitating Moaning Myrtle minus the actual moaning for the past couple of weeks?”

Adrian studied me steadily, his blue eyes holding mine. “That, dear Lisa, is a story for another night. You wouldn’t understand half of it – and we both know you are a terror when you don’t understand something. I’d rather not have to go through that.”

* * *

 

After the dementor incident, or rather _because_ of the dementor incident, Lupin decided to borrow some time away from N.E.W.T. preparation to focus on learning the patronus charm. “This is very advanced magic,” he said to a class of open-mouth, are-you-kidding-me looking students “Far more advanced than anything you’d need for your examinations. However there is a world outside of school, even if you don’t believe me right now and this is a peculiarly useful charm.”

We had been at it for two weeks. It was the Friday before Hallowe’en (and Hogsmeade) and already several people had managed to produce not only silvery gas but a corporeal honest-to-Salazar patronus.

And I was seething with jealousy.

Like all other defense against the dark arts classes, we were paired with our seat partners, as Lupin liked to call them. Wood had managed to produce that silly bear of his after the first hour of trying, earning Gryffindor thirty points and almost giving Weasley an aneurism. He was on the other side of the room trying so hard to concentrate I was surprised his eyes hadn’t popped out yet. Penelope was happily staring at her silver duck.

“Maybe if you stopped glaring at people and focused you might be able to produce _something_ before lesson is over,” Wood drawled, making books levitate from his place on the floor. I shot him daggers and attempted again. I conjured up images of all things happy: winning the house cup, bullying Francis, lounging around near the lake in a crisp, autumn morning – but nothing worked.

“And if you are _still_ thinking about shoes, then you really need better memories.”

I screamed in frustration, with my mouth shut, making it sound like a chocked horse before sitting down next to Wood, my head supported by one hand. He patted my shoulder, his patronizing tone a saccharine sweet, “Now, now, no need to get down on yourself. I’m sure you’ll get it –eventually.”  
I dug my heel into his shoe; his yelp of pain was all the satisfaction I needed.

“Now that you got that out of your system,” he continued massaging his injured foot. “Perhaps we should really work on what kinds of memories you are conjuring up.”

“Can’t we just call it a break?” I said with a sight, levitating a spider. “Tomorrow is Hallowe’en , Hogsmeade-  my mind is just not up to it,” and up the spider goes…

“Sarah, you need to learn this spell.”

“I’m not planning on going to Azkaban, and even if I did end up there, I rather doubt I’d be allowed a wand; therefore, there is no ‘must’ to abide by.”

I heard him sigh as I tried to levitate the spider far enough to put it inside of Weasley’s pants. “Sarah,” Wood said, grabbing my wand arm and making me lose my spider. Bugger. “It’s a hard spell, but it is perfectly doable.”  
I rolled my eyes. Says the little bugger who is probably exploding with happy memories. The wanker is probably been thinking about brooms and balls this entire time.

“Use your eyes and look around Wood,” I said, scanning the room for a new spider. “Do you see a pattern in people’s success?” He didn’t reply for a few minutes, and I gave up finding my itsy bitsy spider.

“No.”

I grabbed his head between my hands and forced him to look where I wanted. “Over there, see that group of Hufflepuffs?” he nodded. “All of them, except for one, have produced a corporeal or semi-corporeal patronus. And the one who hasn’t at least managed a nice wisp of gas.’

“A good amount of Gryffindor’s managed to do quite well,” I said, moving his head to where Emma Bones and Alexander Smith were producing shapes that resembled a dove and a lizard. “As for Ravenclaws – I’d say only a third of them have produced anything more solid that insipid vapour, but most have produced _something_. Now, can you tell me which group hasn’t produced anything?” I asked, releasing his head and wiping my hands on my quilt.

“The Slytherins.” I nodded. Darlene was waving her wand hysterically, yelling and cursing each time nothing happened. Willow was sitting on a desk, her brows furrowed and her tongue sticking out of her lips as she laid down another Tarot card. Terrence wasn’t even trying; instead, he was sweet talking some Hufflepuff girl whose patronus was a fluffy bunny.  Adrian and Flint had given up a long time ago and were now actively duelling each other.

I turned my attention back to Wood, who was staring at Flint dodging Adrian’s jinx in deep concentration. “It makes no sense – if anything, I’d say that Slytherins and Ravenclaws should be the most proficient ones.”  
I snorted. “Misconception, Wood; cunning and logic can carry you through most aspects of your life quite wonderfully. But they both fail when encountered by emotions – and the Patronus Charm is based on the strength of your happy thoughts.”

He snorted. “So you are saying that both houses are less likely to be _happy_? That’s a bit extreme, don’t you think?”

“Ravenclaw’s are probably overanalyzing it,” I admitted with a nod. “But I do believe that is the case for the rest of us. Happy thoughts aren’t exactly common in our repertoire.”

“That’s bollocks,” he said, facing me. “You can’t tell me you don’t have a single happy memory to draw upon. I refuse to believe that.”

“How very Gryffindor-esque,” I said, rolling my eyes. “Of course we have happy memories it’s just that most of them usually don’t have a happy ending.”

“How so?” he asked, raising an eyebrow and flashing me a toothless, cocky grin.  
I smacked him in the back of the head. “When you live with snakes, every bite has poison. And being a snake really limits the type of people you can make happy memories with.”

 


	9. Inappropriate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I needed a drink.
> 
> “We have a proposition,” Flint started the moment I sat down. I lifted my glass to my lips, and swallowed half the contents in one gulp. The strong taste of cinnamon and nutmeg prepared me for his idea. I stared at him for a minute, letting the words sink in. Something in my stomach told me to run away and never come back. Something in my brain told me I already had a drink, but I could always go for another one especially if I may be able to smuggle it free somehow.
> 
> Note to self: never trust your brain when you are sloshed.

## 

Hogsmeade was a blast; even for its regular arse-kicking standards. The reason? This was the first year I was seventeen and that meant: firewhiskey, red currant rum, candy cane flavoured coffee liquor – you name it, I had it. I blame my alcoholic addiction on a society that put excessively demands on pure-blood teenage witches like me.

Terrence had drunk himself to an almost stupor – after giving me hell for not going with him. He mentioned something about missing out on tea at Madam Puddifoot, but I really missed the part in which I was supposed to care. Darlene was, well, Darlene: sitting on some bloke’s leg (a Ravenclaw, I think), and giggling like hyndypunk before luring an innocent prey to their muddy death. Willow was staring into the depths of her gillywater while Adrian talked Quidditch with Flint, who wasn’t paying squat of attention since he was far more concerned with cooking up ways to murder the Gryffindor captain.

Who was, incidentally, being completely disgusting with that Chihuahua–I mean, girlfriend- of his.

“I can’t wait to send him back to the filthy cat he came from,” Flint muttered, taking a long gulp from his rum. If I didn’t know better, I’d think Flint was in love with him. Pity I know better, that would’ve become the funniest rumour at Hogwarts but I happen to like the way my nose looks right now. I don’t want it punched out of shape.

I looked sideways to Adrian, who was back to being his insufferable twit self, thank Salazar, to exchange mocking glances only to see he had the most diabolical smirk plastered on his face. I narrowed my eyes, and returned to my almost-finished drink. I never liked his smirks – they meant trouble.

Sometimes, I really hate Adrian.

“I wonder who is more obsessed with Wood: Flint, or you Lizzie,” he said, toasting me with his glass before drinking. “I bet you’d look dashing dangling from his arm.”

Arshole, I tell you. “I don’t _dangle_ from any bloke’s arms, Adrian.”

“What kind of idiot would even _want_ you Montieth? Other than the poor lost soul passed out over there,” Flint replied, pointing his thumb to Terrence’s pathetic existence.

I felt slightly offended. “Flint, please. I’m a Slytherin, pure-blood, and bleeding beautiful witch. I can snatch any man I want.” Both blokes snickered, and even Willow had trouble hiding a small smile. With friends like these… “Well, if you lot are done insulting me, I’m going to get me a drink,” I said, finishing off my glass and offering Adrian a drunken pout before sauntering off towards the bar.

I sat on a miraculously empty stool and asked for a refill. The bartender looked at me oddly, asking me if I hadn’t had too much to drink already.

Psht.

I smiled in what I hoped was a seductive way, and handed him five galleons. He looked at the money, shrugged, and filled my glass. I took a sip of the rum, enjoying the feeling of the liquor on my tongue. Happier, I turned around ready to join my venomous snakes once more when my sight drifted over the Wood’s table. They were holding hands. I felt like puking, didn’t they know how unsanitary that could be?

Stupid Gryffindors.

Feeling a little nauseated (nothing that more booze couldn’t cure!) I sat down at the table thinking that the conversation would’ve gone back to, I don’t know, Quidditch? Well, it hadn’t.

I couldn’t help the cold feeling of foreboding and upcoming doom creeping up my spine. Willow had lifted her head from her drink, Flint was staring at me expectantly, and Adrian was smirking like the sodding Slytherin he is.

I needed a drink.

“We have a proposition,” Flint started the moment I sat down. I lifted my glass to my lips, and swallowed half the contents in one gulp. The strong taste of cinnamon and nutmeg prepared me for his idea. I stared at him for a minute, letting the words sink in. Something in my stomach told me to run away and never come back. Something in my brain told me I already had a drink, but I could always go for another one especially if I may be able to smuggle it free somehow.

Note to self: never trust your brain when you are sloshed.

* * *

 

We arrived back at the common room just as the feast was starting in the Great Hall. I run up to my dorm to change from my snow sodden clothes into a tastefully short little black dress and some un-walk-able pumps. The plan included skipping the feast, sitting on the sofa, drinking and eating lots of candies. I wasn’t going to be required to walk, and I enjoyed being able to look at people’s eyes without going on my tiptoes if I desired to stand up.

Adrian, Willow, and I spent the entire evening playing exploding snap and laughing like a bunch of twits in between eating candy. Willow even allowed us to have a guess at her tarot card meanings, and we came up with some of the weirdest ideas: something about Mars being bright and having to beware of frozen lollipops. We were laughing hysterically as the devil propped up for me again. Adrian, beside me, pulled my dress down where it had slipped up my thighs so it remained the length it was intended to be.

Sometimes I really love Adrian.

It was just after midnight when Snape decided to crash the party (as he usually did – he didn’t like it when youngsters got involved). This time, however, his usually expressionless face looked almost excited. “Follow me, grab your wands,” he said before turning around without a second glance.

Without hesitating, Adrian jumped to his feet and offered Willow and me each a hand to help us get up. Thankfully, by this late hour I had sobered up considerably and only needed Adrian for brief walking support _up_ the effing stairs.

The Great Hall was packed with students whispering to each other in small groups, while Flitwick and McGonagall charmed the windows and every exposable surface. Snape hurried us in, and went back to talk to Dumbledore, Weasley and the Hufflepuff Head Girl.

I still can’t get over that one.

“You,” Flint said grabbing a passing young Ravenclaw by the neck, “What the bloody hell is going on?”

I peeked over Adrian’s shoulders, curious myself. The poor boy looked terrified. “S-sirius B-Black,” he stuttered, “in G-Gryffindor tower.” I saw Flint role his eyes before forcefully releasing the boy who ran for it.

“Leave it up to the Gryffindorks to ruin Hallowe’en ,” he muttered angrily. I heard whispers of agreement. My curiosity not satiated in the least, I grabbed Adrian’s arm and began pulling him away from the group of snakes.

“Where are we going?”

“We are hunting for kittens; I want details,” I said through clenched teeth: Adrian wasn’t being too passive and forcing him my way was putting quite an amount of pressure on my precious toes. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, we reached the two blonde heads I had been looking for. Unfortunately, they weren’t alone.

“Francis,” I said while trying to evade being run over by a bunch of scared Hufflepuffs. “What is going on?”

Gwen, who until then had her head hidden in Wood’s stomach, looked up and run towards me. She crashed against me so forcefully, that Adrian had to catch me from behind so I wouldn’t fall. “Lisa! I’m scared!” she whined. It took a lot of self-control not to roll my eyes. I knew Gwen was faking, she had mastered the art of ‘look cute and scared; reap the benefits’ at age three.

“It’s okay, Gwennie, everything will be fine,” I said, patting the top of her curly head in what I supposed was a motherly fashion. Adrian snickered in my ear. Gwen lifted her head to look up and her baby blue eyes widened; she untangled herself from my clothes and didn’t run back to Wood. Instead, she simply looked down at her robes and began straightened them. Dismissing her odd behaviour as part of her being a Ravenclaw, I turned my attention back to my other cousin. “Well?”

Francis was staring at Gwen (I think it was at Gwen) with a confused expression on his face. Knowing it could take him years to figure things out, I looked pointedly at Wood. “Sirius Black tried to force his way into Gryffindor tower,” he said “But the Fat Lady didn’t let him in so he ripped her canvas. They are searching the castle now.”

“Why today though?” Adrian asked, releasing me from the arms he had used to stabilize me. “I mean, with the racket that was probably going on in the Great Hall he must have realized it was Hallowe’en .”

“Why Gryffindor tower?” I asked, more to myself than to my companions. Adrian nudged me and then looked forward, where three third year Gryffindors were talking in hushed voices. “Oh.”

“You’d better a keep an eye on your seeker, Wood, or you’ll be forced to relieve the final match from two years ago,” Adrian said, sending Wood a sneer and poking me to start moving. I bid them adieu and began walking back to our group of venomous snakes. Terrence was looking around him, an evil grin breaking out when he saw us coming.

He sauntered over to meet us, apparently unconcerned with the knowledge that a psychopathic murderer was loose in the castle. “We are going to sleep in the Great Hall tonight,” he said when he had reached us; Adrian’s hand had darted to my waist. “Dumbledore wants all prefects to stay up and patrol. I guess we really couldn’t ask for a more romantic night, could we Lisa?” he whispered in my ear before passing me by. I shivered.

“I’ll stay with you, if you want,” Adrian said, his hand tightening around my low back.

I shook my head. “That’s fine; I’ll make sure to stay in the opposite side of the hall. Besides, with Weasley the third patrolling I doubt he’d be able to try much.” I offered him a small smile and walked back towards where Francis and company were standing. If I wanted to ward of Terrence, I needed to venture into enemy territory.

My two cousins were deep into a sibling fight. I almost didn’t want to approach them, again. I try my best to stay out of their fights. But a) I reckoned I needed to for my plan to succeed, b) Gwen saw me and c), Williams was there and her face looked as red as Weasley’s hair.

That was provokingly interesting.

Gwen had re-attached herself to Wood and was holding on to the front of his robes, while Williams tried to yank her back and Francis just shouted. “But I want to sleep with Oliver! I’m scared!”

Woah. “Don’t you think that’s a little inappropriate, Gwen?” I added my two Knuts; three pair of eyes glared at me, one redder than the other. Gwen looked positively satisfied. She even mouthed “jealous?” before diverting back to arguing with Francis.

“Gwendolyn! There is a serial killer in this castle!” Francis tried to reason with the girl. “And there is simply no well in hell I’m letting you _sleep_ with a bloke! Not until you are forty at least.”

Talk about old fashioned. “You’re not coming anywhere near him, you little brat!” Williams said, the veins in her neck pulsing violently. She had a fistful of Gwen’s robes and was trying to pry her arm away from her boyfriend, but Gwen was stronger than her lithe frame showed. I narrowed my eyes, an idea coming to my mind. I quickly eliminated all distance between the scene and myself, and popped out my wand.

“Williams, you are bordering on aggravated assault. I think that could easily be what? Fifty points from Gryffindor and a detention?” I said, using my wand as a pointer to slap the back of her hands. She retrieved them with a scolw. Her lips curled over her teeth. I knew she was ready for a catfight, not that I wasn’t, but she wasn’t stupid enough to try anything in front of the teachers.

She did a one eighty turn of tactics. “Are you going to pick that brat over me, Oliver?” she screeched, turning around to face the poor idiot. If I had a camera, I would have loved to take a picture of Wood’s face. I could picture it in Witch Weekly’s front page: ‘Quidditch bloke trapped between a promiscuous prepubescent girl and insufferable girlfriend: The new definition of hell?”

Sighting, Wood picked at Gwen’s fingers and pulled them apart and away from his clothes. He didn’t look at Williams when he spoke. “She’s thirteen, Abi, and she’s scared-‘

“Scared my arse!” Williams shouted, her eyes watering faster than Flint could burn down a cauldron. “She’s a spoiled, annoying little brat who-“

Two sets of wands were on her neck before she could finish. “Watch it,” Francis and I said together, giving each other a surprised look of camaraderie over the corner of our eyes. Wood shrugged and Williams snapped.

She huffed, cleaned her eyes with the back of her hand and turned around, not before saying the ultimate punch line. “Fine, if that’s your choice then _stay_ with her. It’s not like I need you.”

Wood sighed, tried to say something to us, failed, and fled following his angry bird. “That was fun,” I said a little more cheery than I was before.

Francis threw me a disbelieving look before putting both hands on Gwen and forcing her to turn around to face him. “What is wrong with you? You are _thirteen_ Gwendolyn! How can you be thinking about sleeping with a bloke?”

Gwen stared at him, a triumphant smile on her face. “I didn’t mean it like _that_. I am only thirteen, Francis; you are making a dragon out of a chicken’s egg.”

Francis looked at me. I looked at him, equally stunned.

“She’s your cousin.”  
“She’s your sister.”

* * *

 

Twenty blisters and two hours later, Dumbledore returned to inform us that Sirius Black had, once again, escaped. I couldn’t say I was upset since it meant I could finally kick off my shoes and go to sleep. I summoned one of the few unused purple bags over to where I was, which was on the northeast corner of the Great Hall, conspicuously far from where Terrence had been patrolling.   
Francis was snoring, his sleeping bag as close to the one Wood and Gwen were sharing as humanly possible. Gwen’s head was tucked beneath Wood’s as she too seemed to be in deep sleep. The Gryffindor captain, on the other hand, was wide awake.

“Did they find him?” he whispered as I laid down on the other side of him; I knew Wood had better morals than most of the blokes I had the misfortune to associate myself with, but I was still a distrustful, overprotective Slytherin who knew Francis was rubbish with spells.

“No,” I replied, kicking my shoes off before wrapping myself up in the purple fabric. If only I had a sodding pillow…

“Bugger.”

I nodded, or I think I did; I was falling asleep, pillow or no pillow. “Do you reckon Gwen was actually scared? She fell asleep quite fast.” I snorted.  “What? She’s thirteen, Sarah.”

“My point exactly,” I replied with a yawn.

“You don’t reckon she fancies me do you?” I lacked the energy to burst out laughing at the panicked tone in his voice. Instead, I settled for a noncommittal shrug. “She’s a nice kid and all but… she’s a kid, Sarah.”

“Mm.”

“Don’t act like you don’t care,” I cracked an eye open to stare at him, wondering if I could get away with hexing him with Dumbledore in the room. “If you didn’t care, you would be on the other side of this blasted room, comfortable tucked in Higgs’ arms instead of acting like mother hen.”

I stared at him evenly before closing my eyes and turning over so I faced the wall. “You are wrong on more than one account in that sentence, Wood.”  
I heard him snort. “Yeah right; neither you nor Francis trust me, I don’t have a ruddy clue why. Or is there another reason why you are still hanging around?” I heard the mockery even if I didn’t see him grin.

Another yawn escaped me, and I didn’t bother to cover it up. “It’s not Gwen that needs looking after Wood, it’s you.” That did not come out the way I wanted it to. My eyes snapped open and I could feel my cheeks reddening. Thankfully, there was no one there to see me – but there was also no way Wood hadn’t heard.

He chuckled. “Ow, little Sarah cares for my safety? How sweet!”

I grabbed one of my heels and threw it over at him, missing and hitting Francis instead. Wood just laughed. “Sod off!”

 


	10. Flabbergasted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He shook his head “That’s what my team is going to think. You shouldn’t underestimate them, Sarah.” 
> 
> “And you shouldn’t overestimate them, Wood.”
> 
> “Diggory put a good team this year…” he mumbled something I didn’t catch A small sigh escaped my lips as I pictured Cedric Diggory getting changed into his uniform for the game. Maybe after Gryffindor slaughtered his team he’d be in need of a little pick me up? “Don’t tell me you fancy him too.”
> 
> I shrugged. He just shook his head and went back to moaning. Although I think I heard him say something that sounded an awful lot like “women.”

##  It hadn’t stopped raining since mid-October and the weather was getting worse. The Slytherin common room was beneath the lake and I didn’t have to put up with the never-ending thunder. Instead, we got wonderful updates on the state of the outside world by how many grindylows the current carried away.

“Queen to E4,” I said, leaning in, my fingertips touching in a mocking evil gesture. Adrian was propped against the green leather couches, a wide grin on his face as he tsked my move.

“Knight to E4,” his knight decapitated killed my Queen.

“What! How?” I squealed; Adrian laughed. I sent my tower to kill his knight, but a stupid pawn killed my tower. “I hate this game.”

“Incorrect,” Adrian said, moving his queen to mate my king. “You just hate losing.”

I shrugged, moved my king sidewise only to have it be in check again. “Pray tell, isn’t there a Quidditch practice going on?” I watched a gryndilow trying to hold on to some weeds before being washed off with amusement.

Adrian shrugged, checkmated my king and watched with glee as the black piece surrendered. “I think Flint might’ve mentioned something about it, but I doubt anyone can fly in these conditions.”

Just then the door of the common room opened. Six figures in mud-covered robes rushed in, dripping water and mud as people scattered out of their destructive path. Adrian snickered.

“Quidditch meeting, now!” Flint screamed, pushing some second years away from the fireplace and taking their seat. “Pucey, get your arse over here!” Adrian threw me an amused glance and walked over to stand at the back of an armchair, well out of reach of Flint’s fists.

I chuckled, tucked my feet beneath me and waited to be entertained. The entire common room had gone quiet. “There is no way we’re defeating Gryffindor in these conditions,” Adrian looked behind him to show me a roll of his eyes. I replied in kind.

At once, all the players (and some of the other students) started to whine. The beaters had apparently hit each other in the face in the confusion that was the maelstrom outside. Flint even collided with the other chaser, Montague, but it was little Draco Malfoy’s comment that got everyone to shut up.

It is quite clear the little toad can’t stand not being the centre of attention for more than sixty seconds. “And with my broken arm… I won’t be able to catch the snitch even if I see it…,” he wailed. Several third year girls sniffed and nodded in approval. One tried to hug him, but he shrieked and scooted over.

I exchanged another look with Adrian.

Flint, however, jumped from his chair looking like he could’ve snogged his seeker. “That’s it!” he said, pumping his fist into the air, his face illuminated in evil delight. “Get up you lazy bunch of girls, we need to speak with Snape!”

“What for?” Adrian asked letting his voice drawl and checking his nails.

Flint stared at him with a demonic glint. “Our seeker is injured, you dim-witted flobberworm. We can’t play.” 

Half the team agreed with the captain’s genius idea, the rest was dubious about it. Adrian was in the second half. “What are you suggesting then, cancelling?” he asked, “Gryffindor played without a seeker two years ago. Wood is not going to go for it.”

“You can always postpone,” I said looking at my nails and deciding they needed a manicure.

Flint spun around to stare at me, “Don’t you have to go drool over a book?” 

I told him where he could go, and decided to make it a French manicure. 

“Postponing doesn’t sound so bad,” one of the beaters said. He looked quite hopeful.

“Wood’s not going to agree to it,” Adrian argued. “He’s played without a seeker before.”

“There is no reason Gryffindor shouldn’t play this Saturday,” Flint stood up. “It is us who can’t.”

“What are you suggesting we do then, captain?”

A wolfish grin marred his features. “Cheat.”

* * *

 

“You knew about this, didn’t you?” I lifted my eyes from my textbook and came face-to-face with the Gryffindorcaptain who was as red in the face as his Quidditch robes. There was smoke coming out of his ears, and I wondered if he’d taken a pepper up potion or if he was trying to become an angry bull animagus.

I pushed my reading glasses down on the table and placed a quill in between the pages to make my place in the book. “You mean the pop quiz we got the last week? Woody, I may like gossip but I can’t know everything that goes on in this castle.”

“Don’t play stupid with me, Sarah.”

I put the book down and stared at him for a few moments. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I said in what I hoped was a sincere tone; I wasn’t too familiar with what honesty sounded like.

He glared at me one more time but didn’t reply. Thinking the subject dismissed I grabbed my bag to find an ink bottle when his fists hit the table. I jumped in my seat, breaking my ink bottle over my skirt.  It was my turn to return the glare. “Did you take some extra steroids-potions with your morning tea?” I grabbed my wand and cleaned my legs and skirt. 

“Don’t joke with me,” he said through gritted teeth. His body was shaking and I was certain his eyelids were twitching. “I know you know… you probably came up with the bloody idea too.”

“Read my lips Wood: I have no effing clue what you are talking about,” I willed myself not to show him how much he was unnerving me.

He chuckled like a maniac before bringing his face inches away from mine. “The match, Sarah,” he hissed. His face was close enough to mine that I could feel his warm breath on my skin.  “The sodding Quidditch match, the one that should've been between my team and yours but you bunch of-” 

 Hmm… Quidditch… why does that ring a bell?

“What about it?” I asked, pushing his face away with both my hands, not at all surprised at how hot his skin was. Wood was known for running hot.

He groaned, tangled his hands in his short hair and began pacing back and forth. My eyes followed him like they would an indecisive bird. “You knew that Slytherin was going to cancel, didn’t you?”

Oh… that. “Did they now?”

“It seems your seeker is too injured to play. That’s bollocks and the entire school knows it.”

“I don’t think they heard you in Australia quite yet, Wood, mind repeating it?”          

 “You knew they were going to force us to play against Hufflepuff,” that wasn’t a question.

I leaned back against the chair, beginning to enjoy this little scenario. “Might’ve heard something…. In any case,” I added seeing how the bull here had spotted my red hair tie, “I don’t see what you’re complaining about. You get an easy game.”

“Easy?”

“Easy.”

“Do you have any idea of how much this will complicate the game tomorrow?”

This was the second time in ten minutes I was being honest. That's some sort of record. “No, I don’t. Hufflepuffs are pushovers and, let’s be frank Wood, would you rather go against Slytherin in this weather?” I pointed my thumb towards the window, where right on cue, a thunder fell.

All the colour drained from his face; he seemed tired, exhausted. I almost pitied him (quote: almost). He dropped into the chair next to mine and buried his face in his hands. I looked over him towards the people were starting to come into the room.

When he spoke, his voice sounded beaten. “It’s just… Hufflepuff changes everything…”

“Wood, it’s Huff-n-puff you’re talking about,” I said, patting his shoulder. “You are giving them way too much credit.”

He shook his head “That’s what my team is going to think. You shouldn’t underestimate them, Sarah.”      

“And you shouldn’t overestimate them, Wood.”

“Diggory put a good team this year…” he mumbled something I didn’t catch A small sigh escaped my lips as I pictured Cedric Diggory getting changed into his uniform for the game. Maybe after Gryffindor slaughtered his team he’d be in need of a little pick me up? “Don’t tell me you fancy him too.”

I shrugged. He just shook his head and went back to moaning. Although I think I heard him say something that sounded an awful lot like “women.”

* * *

 

“I’m so glad we don’t have to play today,” Montague said, rubbing his hands together and blowing hot air into them. 

Malfoy, who had decided to sit behind me, moaned. “If only my arm wasn’t injured…”

I rolled my eyes and snuggled further against Adrian’s chest, focusing my sight on the goalposts and refusing to look down. “Ten galleons Wood is the first one to go down”

“I raise that to twenty, Derrick.”

“You have yourself a deal, captain.” Bets and comments came and went while we waited for the match to start. No one bet on the result, just on the possible misfortunes.

Terrence, who was sitting beside me, kept throwing me furtive looks. In the past, when there was a Quidditchgame it was his arms that draped over me. But today I had kidnapped Adrian to keep him away. I had avoided him for the last month, and yet he still didn’t get the message.

“Hufflepuff is on the pitch!” Darlene yelled; my ears rung. Rain was pouring down with the same speed and ruthlessness of a wayward Bludger. It was hard to see two feet in front of you and I didn’t envy any of the poor lost souls in the pitch.

“And there is Gryffindor!” Jordan’s voice echoed, but the wind drowned it out.  “The whistle is blown - and the game begins! Gryffindor has possession of the quaffle, one of the exceptionally talented and beautiful chaser but honest to Merlin, I can’t tell them apart!”

Blurs of canary yellow and scarlet red raced over the pitch, hampered by the relentless weather. Jordan’s commentary kept us aware of what was happening, but it was becoming difficult to even tell the teams apart as the storm worsened. “And that was a Bludger sent by the Gry- no wait, by the Hufflepuff beater to try to stop a Gryffindor chaser. Or so I think. The Quaffle is lost and back in possession of Hufflepuff - back in control o fGryffindor, how the hell they managed to catch that with-”

“Jordan!”

“Yes, yes, sorry, professor McGonagall. I was commentating on  Gryffindors chasers’ skill, catching the Quaffle in this … Now Quaffle still in Gryffindor possession - that must have been a Bludger or the Gryffindor chaser has a thing for pirouettes-“

“Jordan…”

“And… Yes! Gryffindor scores!”

Cheers erupted on the other side of the pitch, but were only half-heard by us. I heard Adrian swear before handing me two galleons. 

“And Captain Wood calls for a time-out, probably wants to change into a pair of dry knickers the-”

“Jordan!”

“Aye, aye, go on with the commentary. While we wait, let’s recap: Gryffindor is in the lead 50 to 10. And everyone here, myself included, is hoping one of the two seekers will catch the snitch in the next five minutes - preferably Potter.”

“If they can see the snitch in this weather, then I am a Hufflepuff,” Terrence muttered. 

“And they are back! Don’t know why Wood called a timeout, but his team seems to be playing with renewed vigour- or at least I think that is Gryffindor…” lighting flashed across the sky every couple of minutes, coupled with deafening thunder. The winds had picked up force, out-roaring even Jordan’s most audacious attempts at keeping track of the score.

The cold had chilled me to the bones, and Adrian and I were hanging  each other tighter. My teeth began clattering, and my body shivered uncontrollably. The rain had turned the pitch into an abstract picture of grey. My eyes glazed over as the roar of thunder faded back. The pitch had grown darker. “Is it me, or is it getting much colder than it should be?” Adrian’s question sounded far away, as if he was yelling all the way from the Astronomy Tower.

Terrence yanked my sleeve; his face was pearl white and he was pointing downwards. There, by the edge of the pitch stood a couple dozen Dementors, approaching. I forced my head to lean back on Adrian’s shoulder and stare at the downpour - anywhere but down.

“What is that?” Willow whispered beside me. I flicked my head back down to catch a glimpse of a huge silver bird chasing the Dementors away.

“A Patronus…”

Everything began to clear, my vision was no longer blurry and the cold retreated back. Jordan’s words came back into focus, “Gryffindor seeker is down and - yes, Diggory catches the snitch! Hufflepuff wins, 160-50!”

* * *

 

I was growing impatient. I decided to wait another five minutes for the idiot to show up. I could hear the few people who were still eating dinner in the Great Hall and considered, more than once, approaching one of his team mates and demanding to know where he was.

Alas, there are reasons why I wasn’t sorted into Gryffindor.

I checked my watch again and cursed just when the doors of the Entrance Hall opened, and in came Wood. He was as soaked as if he had gone skinny dipping with the Giant Squid. I wanted to let him know what was on my mind but he resembled a broken doll so accurately that I bit my tongue. He stopped walking just in front of me, lifting his head with an effort and sighed and went  back to stare at the floor. 

I tapped my shoe where he could see it. “Didn’t succeed in drowning yourself in the shower, did you?”

He didn’t reply; instead, he put a hand in his pocket and withdrew a handful of silver which he then offered it to me. I arched an eyebrow before grabbing it. “This will sound stupid but Wood, are you alright?” 

“Best day of my life,” he  took an awkward step to the side, avoiding my gaze. In a burst of compassion, I placed a hand on his shoulder and poked his cheek with a long nail, forcing him to look up.

“You played a good game. The odds were against you.”

“I told you we should take Hufflepuff seriously.”

I poked his cheek,  grinning. “Like to see that getting your hopes crushed didn’t take the cheek out of you.”

He grinned and straightening up, his brown eyes twinkling again and making me want to gauge my own out. “Wouldn’t want to disappoint, would I?”

I shook my head, giving him another squeeze to the shoulder before walking off. There was a warm fuzzy feeling in my belly that I attributed to the extra hot French onion soup I had for dinner. I was unsure what was causing the marble floor seemed  made of jelly. I made my way towards the common room in a drunken stupor; in fact, the corners of my lips turned upwards. That was, until I saw the most revolting image to ever grace human eyes: Adrian surgically attached to some bird’s mouth, his body pressing hers against the cold stone wall. I felt my onion soup wanting to get out. My mouth was hanging open, no doubt. Whoever said bravery is the kindest word for stupidity sure as hell was right. Gryffindors really weren’t clever.

“Oh- my - God.”

That caught Abigail Williams’ attention.

 


	11. Blackmailed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because despite your many personality shortcomings,” he said, putting his arms on his legs and leaning in, “you happen to be rather adept at a variety of semi-illegal pursuits. And you perform quite well under blackmail.”
> 
> Ooh… not so interesting any more. “I take offence to that. I’ve never done anything illegal-ish,” I added when he crooked his mouth into a smirk. “And I doubt you have material to blackmail me with. Frankly Adrian, you are losing your touch.”

## 

“How the hell am I supposed to know?” I snapped the book closed and turned around. Terrence and Flint were glowering at me, but by Merlin’s Pants, I had enough on my plate to care. So I threw the book on top of the other four I was planning on checking out, clutched them tight to my chest, and darted past them.

Flint grabbed me by the arm before I could leave. Three books fell to the floor. I yanked my arm free and bent down to pick them up. “Bugger off.”

“You _always_ know,” Terrence said. He was crouching low and handing me “ _A Concise Theory of Potion Making”_  which must have weighted about the same as a small hippo. I stared hard into his green eyes which were frowning and burning with anger. I saw Flint’s shoes move out of the corner of my eyes. “Now, spill.”

“I’m no Gryffindor, Higgs,” I snatched the book from his hand, almost toppled over, but managed to stand up somewhat straight. “Nor am I a Hufflepuff. If I knew anything worth using against Adrian, or anyone else for that matter, I would have used it.” Terrence glared at me once more, but said nothing else. He knew me too well to know I wasn’t lying. Pity for him, I know how to out-lie my own lying parameters.

“Just tell him that if he continues to play the way he is playing, he’ll get kicked off the team,” Flint said, following me towards the library checkout.

“Tell him yourself, arsehole,” I said without turning around. “I’m not a bloody owl.” I saw Flint shrug and leave.  Terrence stood there, vacillating between following Flint and staying.  I threw him the iciest glare I could muster and he scampered off.

Cowardly little bugger.

A soft sigh of relief escaped my lips when I was alone again. I checked out my books and held them close to my chest and I made my way back to a table where I could safely bury my head in my hands and perhaps pass out for a few hours.

It was all too horrendous to even speak, let alone _think_ , of. Times like this, I wondered if Muggles had an easier life or if blokes were stupid regardless of magic. _Abigail Sodding Williams?_ I grunted, clutching at my hair with my hands. You have got to be kidding me.

Early the next morning, when I was supposed to be in History of Magic, Adrian walked in on me in the common room. My feet were tucked beneath my arse, and I was trying to finish an essay for Arithmancy that was due yesterday, but was instead doodling in the margins of my parchment. I lifted my gaze to glare at him, before returning to my grotesque version of how Abigail Williams should die.

Adrian took a seat on a chair, but said nothing. Meanwhile, my mental health was deteriorating. How in Salazar’s holy name did Adrian end up tangled with that harlot? More importantly, how did I not know this sooner? Perhaps I could have acted on his behalf. What if she was stalking him? I can be quite intimidating when I put my mind to it.

And why, oh why, did he refuse to look over my potions essay? I mean, I get that we weren’t on speaking terms after I had shouted at him and possibly threatened him, but I had gotten an ‘E’ on my last essay, and how am I to keep up my reputation as the brightest witch in Slytherin if I am getting ‘E’s’ in potions?

How?

Perhaps I _was_ being a little hypocritical about this whole thing. I did have at least one Muggle (Greek, and hot) and one Muggleborn (Hufflepuff, but I was rebounding-and hot) under my belt. But at least I had never looked as miserable as Adrian had during the past two months. Everything made sense now, Gwen’s words, Adrian’s under-the-eye-bags…

It was all too dreadful not to belong to some cheap romance novel.

“Elizabeth, my dear Elizabeth, there you are,” Adrian said after ten minutes of complete silence. I looked at him over my scribbled parchment; he had the kind of grin on his face that resembled a lion about to eat a gazelle.

I didn’t need to be a genius to know where I figured in that equation.  “I’m sorry, my daddy taught me not to talk to blood traitors.”

Adrian scoffed, pushed himself off the chair, and sat down on the coffee table in front of me. “That’s a bit harsh, don’t you think?”

I shrugged.

“Besides, you are as guilty of fraternizing with the enemy as I am, Liz,” he flashed me a toothy grin.

“Please, Wood and I never got _that_ close,” I said with a wave of my hand, ignoring the fleeting memories of Wood’s body over mine in Greece.

Adrian chuckled. “I wasn’t talking about Woody, but I am rather pleased to see how quickly your mind jumped to him.”

Bugger.

I crossed my arms over my chest. “What are you doing here, Adrian? Don’t you have some Mudblood to deflower?”

“Been there, done that.”  
Ew. “I don’t want details.”

“Didn’t think you would,” he said with a merry laugh. “In any case, I am here because I need your help with something.”

Ooh, interesting. Ammunition. I lifted an eyebrow, putting my undone homework to the side and making a mental note to ask Penelope to let me copy hers later. “I see no reason why I should help you. Why don’t you try Williams? I heard you are quite close to the lying little-”

“I never thought you’d want to help me, Elizabeth,” he interrupted me, still smiling. “You are not exactly the poster girl for helpful.”

“Then why come to me, pray tell?”  
“Because despite your many personality shortcomings,” he said, putting his arms on his legs and leaning in, “you happen to be rather adept at a variety of semi-illegal pursuits. And you perform quite well under blackmail.”

Ooh… not so interesting any more. “I take offence to that. I’ve never done anything illegal- _ish_ ,” I added when he crooked his mouth into a smirk. “And I doubt you have material to blackmail me with. Frankly Adrian, you are losing your touch.”

He fished an envelope out of his pocket and dangled it over my head. My first instinct was to grab it and see what was inside, but I knew better than to act on instincts alone. “Are you sure of that?”

“Answer me this, did you fall for that twit, or is this just a part of a much larger and complicated scheme?”  
“Yes and yes. Now do you want to know what I am holding over your head or not?”

I rolled my eyes but gave in. Adrian placed the envelope on an outstretched hand with a ceremonious grin. I opened it with caution, in case it was bubotuber pus. “But wait, you haven’t seen the best part!” he yanked the envelope out of my hands before I could see its contents and grabbed something from inside his bag. I thought I was going to be sick.

He was holding a Gryffindor Scarf. “Recognize this, Liz?”

I swallowed the lump that had formed in my throat, and rearranged my body so it looked more relaxed than I was. “Do I look like a kitty-cat to you?”

“Do you want me to answer the innuendo?”

I glared at him. “No and no, I don’t recognize the damned thing.”

“Curious,” he began turning the scarf, looking for something. “Because this particular scarf belongs to the one and only, thank Merlin, Gryffindor Quidditch Captain Oliver Wood, with whom you are such good mates,” he showed me the name tag where “Property of Oliver Patrick Wood” was scribbled rather childishly.

Bugger.

That scarf was supposed to be hidden in the bottom of my trunk, in my room, where Adrian couldn’t have grabbed it from. Unless he had help. I’d have to question Blondie and the tree. “It is also curious,” he continued, “how this scarf hasn’t been around Wood’s neck since October.”

“Have you been keeping track of how many clothes Wood keeps on? That’s sick, Adrian.”

“No, I just noticed he didn’t have it one morning during care of magical creatures,” he threw the scarf on my lap and leaned backwards only to realise he was sitting on a table not a chair. “But what intrigued me was how this scarf got into your trunk.”

A slow, sly smile crept onto my lips. I could play this game too. “And what proof would you have of that? As far as I can tell, you are a kleptomaniac who is jealous your precious jewel is dangling of Wood’s arms - not yours.”

His grin widened and he grabbed the half-open envelope. I had forgotten all about it by now. He tossed it over and I caught it, bewildered. Inside, there was a pile of photographs showing Wood’s scarf (name tag up) inside my trunk (name tag visible) from various angles.

Triple bugger.

“How did you get these?” I asked more out of curiosity than anything else, as I kept on flipping through them. Whoever took them had a blast playing with the angles and the lighting.

“There is this wonderfully gullible second year in Gryffindor,” he said sounding proud of himself, “Colin something. I asked him to take them for me.”

“How did you get him into our common room?”

 “Disillusionment Charm.”

“Of course…” I nodded, while I kept going through the stack. How many photos did this kid take? And how did he get into my dormitory? “Wait a second,” I said pausing at a very specific photograph. “There is a photo of me in the shower!” I screamed outraged, as the photo-me reached for the shampoo.

He chuckled, “What can I say? The kid is good.”

“You have more issues than Witch Weekly,” I said before ripping the offending picture to shreds and feeding it to the fire. “State your terms.”

* * *

 

“Remind me why I’m doing this again,” I asked for the fifth time in a row. We were in the girl’s bathroom on the second floor, the one Moaning Myrtle likes to flood whenever she thinks Hogwarts needs drama (like that ever happens).  Adrian was kneeling over a large cauldron, checking the disgusting-looking potion inside it.

“Ensuring you don’t get disowned,” he said nonchalantly, lifting some of the potion up with a soup spoon and smelling it.  I stared down at him, my arms crossed over my chest and my heels tapping on the floor. After a few minutes, he got up from his crouched position and grinned at me. “It’s ready.”

I didn’t answer.

“I just have to add the hairs,” he reached towards his bag and pulled out a small vial with a bunch of brown hairs in it. I looked at it thinking I may throw up. “There are some robes on the sink, you should change.”

“What if I don’t want to?”

He sighed and looked at me as if this was the hundredth time I asked that question. Probably was, too. “I owl your father and tell him you’ve been shagging Wood and are currently pregnant with his love child -or any variation of the story you’d prefer. I’m open to suggestions.”

Well, a hundred times in, he still didn’t forget. Bugger.

I groaned, grabbed the spare robes he was offering me, and closed the door of the cubicle behind me with a bang. “Let me know when you’re changed and I’ll hand you the potion.”

Wanting nothing more than to hex him to oblivion, I removed my jumper and shirt. Abigail Williams was bigger and better proportioned than me where it mattered. Her chest would make my shirt lose its buttons. “What am I supposed to go looking for again?”

I could hear the exasperation in his voice. “Family ring. Pucey crest on it, old, silver, has a snake and a rose in it. You’ll know it when you see it.”  
“ _Why_ am I picking it up?”

“Dammit Elizabeth, use your brain! That thing is worth a lot of galleons. Now get changed and _go_. Abigail is meeting me in five minutes.”

I told him where _he_ could go and he laughed before reminding me to hurry up. When I was done changing skirts (I’m glad to say, she does have bigger fat deposits on the hips) I told Adrian to hand me the potion.

It was a revolting shade of faded purple, with the texture of pumpkin soup gone bad. I pinched my nose with my hand, and toasted “Bottoms up!” before chucking the concoction down. The glass fell from my hand and shattered. I dropped to my knees holding my head which felt like it was being stood on by a mountain troll. My body began convulsing, my sight got better, and I noticed more weight at the front than what I was used to.  In a matter of seconds, it had all stopped.  
Adrian was knocking on my door, “Lisa, are you alright?”

I took a few long breaths before examining my hands; they didn’t look all that different. I touched my face and noticed the straight nose instead of slight curve, the chubby cheeks and high cheekbones, the long light brown hair.

I was my worst nightmare.

“Merlin’s pants Lisa, are you alive?”

“Yeah, yeah,” I said before unlocking the door and pushing it open. I glared at him with all my might, but considering that I had just turned into his favourite bird, the effect was rather lacklustre. “I’m _fine._ ”

“Great!” he said with a goofy grin. “Now get out.”

I rolled my eyes, I should’ve known he wouldn’t be worried for too long. I wriggled my feet around to get some of the shards of glass off, blew him a kiss and rushed out before he could get nasty ideas in his head, the slime bag.

I stared back at the closed door, thinking maybe I’d go hide somewhere and tell him I couldn’t find the damned ring. That sounded like a wonderful idea. Feeling much happier about myself, I began to walk, only to notice that I hadn’t changed shoes, and Williams’ feet were quite bigger than mine. “Bugger,” I cursed. An hour on constrictive pointy shoes… my poor feet…

I heard someone call Williams’ name when I reached the end of the hallway. Cursing in all the languages I knew (read: one), I turned around to see who it was. Sabrina Burton, one of Williams’ girlfriends. Great. I smiled meekly, trying my best to look stupid (that’s how Williams always looks to me) and waved. Burton jogged to catch up with me, slipped her arm through mine, and began dragging me towards the stairs.

“So I think Thaddeus fancies me,” she said while I rummaged inside my head trying to understand who she was talking about. “I mean, yesterday he gave me a peck on the cheek, and today he walked me to every class! He was even late for potions because he climbed the stairs to divination with me!”

Well, isn’t that spiffing?

“That’s great.”

“I know! Isn’t it? When he does, we’ll be able to double date!”

“Great,” I said looking for a way out. My mind was racing with possibilities ranging from the absurd to the illegal (well, _more_ illegal). We were already on the third floor and well on our way towards the tower. Burton kept on talking but I had ceased to pay attention until we were in front of what I supposed was the entrance to the Gryffindor common room.

Oh well, would you look that.

“Anyway, why are you wearing heels?” she asked as she pushed me into the passage that had opened. This girl had way too much caffeine -not unlike that silly knight in the portrait. “Oh I know! You’re planning something special with Oliver, aren’t you?” she poked my ribs while licking her lips with her tongue.

“Of course,” I smiled trying not to blow this whole thing up. “But before I do, I need to retrieve something from my room,” I began walking towards a pair of stairs (there were two) when Burton caught my arm and pulled me down.

“Abi! That leads to the boy’s rooms!” she giggled, “I thought you said you needed something from out dormitory?” she raised an eyebrow before busting out laughing. I followed suit, feeling more uncomfortable every minute. She guided me towards the correct room without shutting up.

The Gryffindor dormitories weren’t that different from ours, I noticed. There were five beds instead of three, all decorated with scarlet drapes and golden accents - unlike our royal emerald and silver. Natural light entered through the window, giving it a homier atmosphere than the one you’d find underneath the lake.

I found William’s bed: it was the one covered with Quidditch posters and flowers. I walked over it and began looking through the cabinets in her bedside table. A quick glance at my watch told me I had thirty minutes to get out of there alive. Burton chatted nonstop from her own bed, where she sat hugging an oversized lion. I gave up on the bedside tables and moved towards the trunk. 

Twenty minutes.

But inside all I found were books, parchment, clothes, shoes, socks, more parchments… a little book caught my attention. I grabbed it instinctively; it was different from the other books which were either novels or school material. The cover was a neutral colour, with some designs in light blue and turquoise. I didn’t know what it contained, and had little time to peruse it but instinct told me to hide it in my pockets, so I did.

“What are you looking for anyway?”

Ten minutes.

“A ring,” I said as I throwing more and more clothes out of the trunk and onto the floor. “A silver ring, a band, quite thick, funny signs written on it.”

“You mean this one?” she said taking something out of her index finger. I yanked it from her hands and examined it. It had the snake curled around an orchard, and some runes. Bingo. “You gave it to me, remember?” she said extending her hand, expecting me to return it.

I eyed her, and her smile faltered. I closed my eyes to remind myself not to act like an intimidating Slytherin. When I opened them again, it was with the biggest smile I could muster.

My cheeks hurt.

“I’m so sorry, Sabrina,” I said in what I hoped was a convincing tone, “I have to take it back. You see, my father gave it to me, I don’t like it much but he would get very upset if I don’t have it with me during the holidays.”

She stared at me puzzled, “But you hate your father. You never see him during the holidays.” Oops.

I began inching backwards towards the doors, “Change of plans. We agreed to smooth things out during the winter break.”

“When did this happen? Abi, why didn’t you tell me?” she sounded worried, “You shouldn’t. I know you are a great witch, but you’re too sweet.  I doubt your dad has changed.”

“That’s what you think,” I was a mere foot way from the door.

“He’s paranoid and you know it. He’ll hurt you again!” Burton jumped off the bed and was making her way towards me

I touched the doorknob with the back of my hand and swung the door open before she could get any closer. That was way too much information. “Well, it’s my life, let me live!” I shut the door in her face and run down the stairs as fast as my feet could carry me without tripping and breaking my neck. I had crossed the room in record time and was ready to breathe freedom.

Then  I bumped into Oliver Wood on my way out.

“Abi! I’ve been looking all over for you!” Bugger, bollocks, and bullshit. Why me?

“I don’t have the time right now, Wood,” I said through clenched teeth trying to get around him. I could feel the blood  beginning to flow through my toes, a sign that I was about to change back.

Three minutes.

“What did you call me?”

Shit. “Oliver, I called you Oliver,” I hurried to say, making the mistake of looking into his eyes. Were they always this caramel?

“Where are you going?” he asked, his eyes narrowed.  He placed a warm hand on my shoulder.

“Library, have to finish an essay,” I tried smiling hoping he’d let me go.

Two minutes.

“Anyways, lovely to see you, we’ll catch up later!”

I pushed my body forward hoping to break the physical contact but Wood caught me at the last second. “Aren’t you going to give me a kiss before you leave?” There was nothing I could do. He lifted my face towards his, looked at me for a second before closing his eyes and placing his lips on mine.

I froze. Part of me wanted to scream in anguish and ran away. Part of me wanted to vomit. And the rest -let’s just not go there.

I pushed him away, my lips were moist and my breathing haggard.

“What’s wrong Abi?”

Then, the wand said Lumos. “We are over. Finite, the end, el fin; roll the credits!”

It took him a few crucial seconds to process the unexpected change of plans. “What?” he seemed perplexed, his mouth hanging open in the most ridiculous fashion. Oh revenge.

One minute.

Bugger.

“You heard me. We are over, WooOliver. I love someone else,” I said in a rush of inspiration before made a mad dash down the stairs.

For a moment he stood there while I made my escape. Pity, reason (or should I say jealousy?) caught up with him soon enough. “Who?” he yelled as he ran behind me, but for once I was faster than him.

By the time I reached the washroom on the second floor, I couldn’t feel my feet anymore. Adrian was pacing from side to side, his head buried in his hands. He jumped and hugged me when he saw me come in. I ignored him and dropped to the floor, removed my shoes and began examining the damage.

“Did you get it?” he asked, unable to hold his anxiety. I reached into one of the robe’s pockets and threw the ring at him. He caught it and looked at it before giving a girly squeal of happiness.

“You owe me, Pucey; and you owe me _big_. If that ring is worth as much gold as you say it is, I want half of it.”

“Half?” he snorted. “Why should I give you half of it?”  
“Because I had to snog Wood to get you that ring.”

I could see Adrian’s reflection in the mirror, and let me tell you the git was loving it. “I don’t see what’s so funny. It was quite traumatic.”

“You kissed Woody? It’s not funny, it’s hilarious!”

 “Arsehole,” was all I could come up with. I was too focused on removing blisters and remembering what it was to kiss Wood. But I tried not to think about that; instead, I submerged myself in the delicious knowledge that I had -to some degree- complicated William’s life for the moment.

“How was it?”

I didn’t respond at once, I took my time dealing with a very hurt big toe. “Wet.”

“You mean he spilled saliva all over you?” he was hunched besides me, his eyes glimmering in delight.

“Not quite, but he wasn’t the best kisser I’ve ever had. It was like he was nervous or something.”

With another loud laugh, he got up and began walking around, chatting and ignoring my protests and insults. Git. I stretched my arms and removed the robe I was wearing; it was too big for me. Something fell from one of the pockets. Remembering the little book I had taken, and stealing a glance toward Adrian, I opened it. The first page was written with bubbly, but neat, handwriting, and the heading read: “ _July 8 th, dear diary….”_

 


	12. Scheme

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He began shouting after me while I walked out. I didn’t even stop when I bumped into Professor Lupin who kindly asked me to come back, saying something about a detention.
> 
> Screw them all.
> 
> I had better things to do. Like plan Abigail Williams’ slow and painful death.

I wasn’t feeling guilty the next day when the rumours that Oliver Wood got dumped began spreading around. If anything, I felt accomplished. Adrian, of course, suspected me; but alas, the object of his desire was once again single, and that turned out to be an advantage for him. Figures. 

I also didn’t feel guilty at all about what I was about to do, either. I’m a Slytherin; guilt is not part of my vocabulary.

The book I had taken from Williams turned out to be a treasure: Not only was it her personal diary, but she was also dumb enough to pour her heart out in it. I had a blast reading about all her silly schoolgirl crushes (which were far more than I’d ever entertained). I made perfect copies of the entire thing, highlighting the most interesting passages; I even made a comment here and there.

I allowed about a week to go by before I made my move. In the meantime, Adrian was walking around being his usual egotistical self – I wasn’t quite sure if it was because he had recovered that ring of his and therefore avoided being disowned (or disemboweled) or because Williams and Wood hadn’t been able to patch things up.

It really is sort of sad when a young couple just falls apart, isn’t it?

Wood had taken to walking around rather forlornly, and from what I could hear of his three chasers complaining in the library, he was dealing with the break-up by forcing extra practice and extra laps on them. Oh well….

I had other things to worry about; like what Adrian is up to when he isn’t a) in Quidditch practice, b) in lessons or c) beating my sorry arse in chess. Since I am no dolt, I can add up two and two. And since Adrian _is_ a dork, he needed my intervention to stop him from messing up his affairs.

He’d thank me one day.

It took me quite a bit to master Adrian’s handwriting, but at last I managed to make it look convincing and my letter to the Gryffindor was written, sealed, and delivered. Which is why I was freezing, waiting for Lady-You-Know-Who near the lake. She was late.

I stuck my tongue out to catch a falling snowflake as I waited. November was almost finished, and the grounds were covered in frost and snow. I shivered, looking over my shoulder to see a lone figure in a black robe and red scarf hurrying over. I turned around, so she could only see my back. I was quite unbalanced in my extra-tall heels. Hey, I needed to look convincing.

“Adrian!” I heard her yell before she hugged me from the back, knocking the breath out of me.  She withdrew almost as quickly as she had attached herself, and when she spoke there was a light tinge of alarm in her voice. “Who are you?”

A slow grin crept on my lips; at least Adrian had enough brains to let her know things had to be kept private.  Her eyes widened before they narrowed when I turned around. “What are you doing here, Montieth?”

My, my, is that contempt I hear?

I tipped my head to the side, grinning. “We have a date, don’t we?”

She stared at me with all true Gryffindor defiance. “I was meeting someone else.”

I walked closer to her  and my grin widened, getting even bigger when she took a step backwards. “Of course you were,” I purred; close enough to be hit with her tacky Eau-de-Toilet.

“What do you want, Montieth?”

Moments like this, I really wish I were a patient person so I could prolong the night’s entertainment. “I have a proposition – actually, no,  make it an I-talk-you-listen-you-obey kind of thing. What’s that called again?”

“You are a psychotic bitch?”

I shrugged. “Perhaps.  But I’m the psychotic bitch who is about to rein you in.” Williams refused to flinch preferring to show me an indifferent face. “What I am about to say is simple enough even someone as dimwitted as you can understand, _Abigail_ ,” I enjoyed the look of disgust that marred her features. “I want you to stay away from Adrian. If you turn into a corridor and he’s there, you turn around; if you enter a room and he’s there, you go somewhere else. If he tries to stick his tongue down your throat, you hex him and walk away. Like I said, simple.”

“What gave you the power to decide anything?”

“You didn’t contradict me, Abi,” I said. She blanched and I could’ve sworn she was cursing in her head. Maybe Hogwarts should teach Gryffindor’s and Hufflepuff’s a class on how to lie. “Haven’t you lost anything lately?” I asked, fidgeting with the hem of the pocket where the diary was hidden. She stood there in silence for a moment, her eyebrows knitted together while my stomach was doing a victory dance. “This perhaps?”

Her face fell when she saw the book I was holding, but I had to give her credit for pulling herself together quicker than I would have thought she could. “I’ve never seen that before.”

My cheeks were hurting from smirking so much. “Interesting. I suppose, if you’ve never seen this little book, I could just tell Oliver about this certain Muggle, I believe Tom? Or can I read that lovely passage to Sabrina about just how annoying you think she is? I’ll make sure to include all the adjectives, promise.”

“I don’t know what you are talking about,” her lips were twitching, and she kept pushing her fringe away from her face.

“Really?” I asked in a low voice. “Can I tell Adrian how you think he’s no good in bed? Would mummy like to know you are not a virgin? I could owl her, I’m sure she would love to read those lovely, very detailed actually, descriptions of…”

“Shut up,” she said. I stopped in my tracks to look at her. She had tears in her eyes and her breathing was uneven; when she spoke, her voice was barely audible behind all the hatred. “Why are you doing this?”

“I’ve told you, I want you to stay away from Adrian.”

“You’re so pathetic this is the only way you can try to take him for yourself? You’ve known him since childhood, Montieth, if he doesn’t think you woman enough you should just give up.”

“Believe it or not,” I said trying my hardest to keep my tone calm, “I want was best for Adrian. And that would be to get rid of a stain such as you.” She opened her mouth but I was quicker than her. I could, I threw the book towards her; it hit her straight in the chest so that she even lost her balance for a second. “I have copies of every single page. If I have the slightest suspicion that you’re seeing Adrian, your mother will have some very interesting reading material.” Without giving her a chance to reply, I began walking towards the castle. When I reached the entrance doors, I took a peek over my shoulder. I sighed as I looked backwards to examine my handiwork; she was still standing by the lake. I felt a slight sensation in my tummy, which I ignored.

The end justified the means.

* * *

 

“Sarah Elizabeth Montieth,” I looked up from my notes when I heard my name being spoken. Wood hovered above me, looking more like a menacing bulldog than a cute poodle. He wore the same infamous look he had every time he looked at Flint.

“Yes, Wood?” I asked, returning my gaze to my defence against the dark arts notes.

 “Explain yourself.”

I stared at him before picking up my textbook from my bag. “And?” he raised his voice an octave.

Chuckling, I put my parchment and quill down and stared at him. I was amused, “Did you want me to explain how to do the non-verbal counter-curses?”

His eyes narrowed, but my teasing smile never faltered. “No, Montieth, I don’t need your assistance with homework,” he said, emphasizing every word and making a tremendous effort not to start yelling. “What I would like you to explain me is why is my girlfriend in the infirmary with her face filled with purple-pustules.” 

“You have a girlfriend?”

“Abigail?”

I blinked. Then realization kicked in.

Oh that made my day; the Lady-You-Know-Who looking like a pizza-face? “This I’ve got to see,” I tried to walk past Wood on my way to humiliate the person I hate the most on this cursed word, but he grabbed me by the arm and pulled me back.

“No, you don’t, Montieth,” he said pushing me down on the seat with both hands on my shoulders. “You’re going to sit here and explain what your problem is.”

“There are many things wrong with me, Woody. Did you want me to write them down or recite them?”

“Abigail said you ambushed her at the end of class and cursed her. She is in the hospital wing!” He continued; I simply stared at him in disbelief. He thought me capable of jinxing the life out of Williams? Well, I can’t blame him, I mean, the idea has crossed my mind too many times to count but I had never carried out a single one of my dream-scenarios out. What angered me most wasn’t Wood’s suspicions (I would’ve thought of myself had I been in his position) but the fact that the little slug outdid me.

That was a thought I couldn’t bear to have.

I got up and looked up at Wood with a composed face. I sneered at him, grabbed my bag, and began to walk out of the classroom. He yelled at me to come back, but I only replied when I had reached the door. The few students who had already wandered into the room only added to the growing animosity. “For once, dear idiot, I have nothing to do with it. If your _ex-_ girlfriend is stupid enough to direct a curse at her face, that is not my problem. You on the other hand, could follow her example and do the same to your nose, it might show some improvements.”

He began shouting after me while I walked out. I didn’t even stop when I bumped into Professor Lupin who kindly asked me to come back, saying something about a detention.

Screw them all.

I had better things to do. Like plan Abigail Williams’ slow and painful death.

* * *

 

The next few days were a nightmare. Adrian had also had a small row with me about the whole Abigail Debacle, only to end up with a displaced nose, courtesy of my wand. He had shut up after that.

Flint, of course, thought it all _hilarious_ and I was pretty sure he, and possibly Darlene, were responsible for starting a ridiculous rumour of a love-triangle between me and the Gryffindorks. The only reason they didn’t end up in the hospital wing was because Willow took my wand from me.

Snape contented himself with telling me to be less obvious next time.

So two weeks and three days later, my revenge was ready to be executed. I waited buttering up a piece of toast in the Slytherin table. Gwen was sitting beside me, but wasn’t saying a word. Adrian was stuffing himself with as many scrambled eggs as the house-elves could produce.

The sound of flapping wings announced the mail. People, myself included, looked up to see if they had gotten any mail. There weren’t any more owls than usual, but to me it felt like they were crowded. Parchment envelopes and small packages began to fall down. Adrian received one; so did Darlene and a few other Slytherin girls down the table.

So did a fair proportion of the Hogwarts population.

I put some Rosehip jam on my toast.

“Letter from your family, Adrian?” I asked taking a bite out of my food while putting some more milk in my teacup. Gwen looked at me before shrugging and focusing on her own eggs.

Adrian didn’t reply; his eyebrows were knitted together and his lips were thin enough to compete with McGonagall. His hands had a slight tremor to them. He read the letter at the fastest speed he could muster, his skin losing colour with every line. When he was done, he crushed it down and stared me down. “Is this real, or some messed up part of your imagination?”

At that moment, Oliver Wood walked into the Great Hall with a fellow seventh year Gryffindor. The Weasley twins had jumped on top of the benches and began reciting at the top of their lungs: “Oliver’s lips felt as soft as a baby’s bum-“

“Although he is quite the sloppy kisser-”  
“I never would’ve thought he’s a bad snog-”

“-But those beautiful eyes make up for it!”

The hall erupted with laughter, as the Gryffindor Captain stood frozen at the entrance. And the twins didn’t stop there. Oh no. They got owled the _entire_ chapter of their ill-fated romance, including her top ten reasons why she should/shouldn’t shag him until she had a ring on her ringer. I watched in earnest as Wood crossed over the hall, ripped the various pieces of parchment off the twin’s hand and read them himself, his face reddening like his tie while most people laughed. Several other people were engaged in their new reading material and making sure all their neighbours were too. The beauties of Hogwarts…

“That’s awful,” Gwen whispered, looking over to the Gryffindor table with concern. “Do you reckon she wrote all of that?”

I didn’t have time to reply because Williams had now walked in. Sabrina Burton walked right up to her and slapped her in the face, called her a few names not even _I_ would dare to say in front of teachers, and run outside, crying.

The excited whispers didn’t stop there – neither did the giggling and laughing. “She was shagging a Muggle while dating Wood! What a harlot!  
“How dare she say Oliver is a bad kisser! With lips like that-”

“She never deserved him.”  
“I never understood why people say she is pretty-”

Adrian nudged me in the arm, his face livid. “Did you invent all of this?”

I shrugged and finished my tea. “C’mon Adrian, you know what they say, the more scandalous the more truthful.”

He didn’t look convinced. “Don’t worry, sweetie,” I said low so only he could hear me. Williams was engaged in a shouting match with Wood which McGonagall was trying to break apart. The twins had turned her writings into a song. “You are the only person who got what she wrote about you. I do have a heart, you know?”

oOo

“That _was_ you, wasn’t it?” was the first thing Wood said when he walked in for detention. Apparently, Lupin hadn’t been joking when he said I’d have to clean all of the cauldrons in the storage dungeon. McGonagall also hadn’t been joking when she gave Wood and Williams detention. Thankfully, Williams was in divination trying to figure out where her life had gone to the dumps and couldn’t join us.

I shrugged, biting my sugar quill and flipping another page of my magazine. Concealed in its pages was a letter from my father I had only realized I had received after the Williams mayhem. I had read it and reread it throughout charms and, unfortunately, its contents hadn’t changed since eight this morning. 

 _Dear Elizabeth,_ _blah blah blah… marriage... blah blah blah… Mr. Higgs has agreed… blah blah blah… expect proposal… blah blah blah… I expect you home for the winter holidays._

_Sincerely,_

_Your father._

Yes, he actually signed ‘your father.’

“Sarah, I asked you a question,” I looked up from my magazine to see Wood holding a cauldron on one hand, and a dirty rag on the other one. Beads of sweat were already coming down on his face; his robe lay on top of a table, and his tie was undone leaving a few inches of skin visible to the naked eye.

I shook my head, trying not to get distracted. “What was that?”

He sighed and let the cauldron fall to the ground with a loud bang. He plopped himself down right next to me, the fabric of his trousers brushing against my bare leg. It sent an electric current up my spine.

“Were the letters true, you didn’t falsify them?”  
“Why is it that whenever I _don’t_ do something you immediately jump to conclusions?” I asked, making sure to close my magazine so he couldn’t spy the letter.

He looked at me, before shaking his head and burying it between his knees. “I know I deserved that-”

“Yes, you did.”  
“-I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions. Not that you can blame me-”

“Agreed.”

“-But that was simply awful, Sarah.”

“What, knowing truth or the public humiliation?”

A lopsided grin formed on his lips. “Both.”

“Don’t worry,” I said patting him on the shoulder and removing my hand as it I had put it over a fire. “I’m sure the twins will get tired of reading them out loud- _eventually_.”

We sat in compatible silence for a while. Wood had leaned his head back against the wall with his eyes closed and his breathing even. It was a while before I realized I had been staring at his broad shoulders, his Adam’s Apple moving every so often, and the relaxed if strained look on his face. He was a handsome bloke, well-build, and with enough wits to hold a conversation; all the traits a proper bloke should have, I reckoned.

There was something attractive about Woody today, the way his hair was a total mess without him even trying to, the boyish look it gave him; broad shoulders, strong chin, full lips. I could just run my fingers through his chest… I hit myself with the magazine. What is wrong with me?

“What’s wrong with you? Why are you hitting yourself on the head for?”

“Trust me, you don’t want to know,” I said opening the magazine again and hiding my red nose in it. Wood is a lousy snog, I chanted mentally.

 _“_ _With lips like that-_ ” the Ravenclaw who had said that surely had a point, I had to admit. I squeezed a look over my magazine when Wood was looking the other way. His lips _did_ look tempting, full, soft... I crushed the pages over my eyes, willing my head to stop.

This just wasn’t _right_. I wasn’t supposed to be thinking of Woody as anything other than an aggravating, obnoxious, and fanatical bloke I had the misfortune to know.

_And the misfortune of having him laying on top of you, wet and smelling of the ocean and-_

“Stop it!”

“Stop what?”  
I turned around, mortified. Did I really say that out loud? Bugger. “Nothing, never mind.” We fell back into a semi-uncomfortable silence. I was counting Hippogriffs so I wouldn’t think about things that might traumatize me for life.

“I think I owe you an apology,” he said when I reached my seventy-seventh Hippogriff. I looked over, I didn’t want any weird thoughts creeping up on me (now is a good time as ever to learn Occlumency –can I close off my mind to myself? I’m going to have to read up on that). “For the other week, accusing you without proof,” he was twirling with his fingers like he always did when he was nervous. I realized I hadn’t been listening, my attention focused entirely on his moving lips – Merlin, I needed a good snogging session.

Not with Wood. Never with Wood. Wood was a lousy snog.

“We still have an hour here,” I said looking at the clock on the wall. “I wouldn’t mind a laugh, care to tell me the full story?”

He laughed as he propped himself back on his feet, offering me a hand. “Do you always have to be so callous?”  
I shrugged, deciding that no physical contact was the safest way to go. “You know the answer, Woody,” I said with a seductive wink. His cheeks turned bright pink. He murmured something about finishing the work the honest way and walked away. I couldn’t be bothered. I had enough complications inside my own mind to get my hands dirty.

 


	13. Disowned

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Who knew Higgs could fight like that?” he said, coughing up a bit of blood which I promptly cleaned up. “My face is swollen, isn’t it?”
> 
> “Like a Hallowe’en pumpkin.”

## 

 

The weather for the Hufflepuff – Ravenclaw match was better than the last game’s, albeit it was a marginal improvement. We had gotten enough rain to double the Black Lake and as the December cold set in, most of it had turned to ice. And nobody had bothered to clean the bleacher stairs.

“Careful there,” Adrian said, grabbing me by my arm when my boot got stuck. Willow, one step ahead of us, snickered as she continued to climb. I followed suit, keeping my eyes on her arse and nowhere near the floor beneath us, which was growing further away from us the higher we climbed.

Needless to say, I was a happy camper once we had reached our seats and would remain safe; until we had to venture back down, that is. Stuck between Willow and Adrian, I grabbed both of their arms and held on tightly.

“You know,” Willow said while removing some snow from her hat, “we really need to do something about your fear of heights. This is getting rather ridiculous.”

“Maybe we should just throw her off the balcony. Once she lands safely on the snow she’ll be cured.” Adrian earned himself a slap.

“If those two twits are being mean, you can always come sit with me,” a voice whispered in my ear. I looked over my shoulder to see Terrence looking ridiculously gorgeous. Blond hair messed up by the wind, cheeks and lips slightly reddened thanks to the cold, green eyes twinkling… His suggestion was awfully tempting, and I was ready to accept when Adrian put his arm around my neck and forced my head forwards.

“No need, Higgs. We could never be mean to Lisa, could we Willow?”

“Of course not,” she said with a disbelieving snort. And that was that. My chance of getting my hormones back in control with a fantastic snogging session (for Terrence could do legendary things with his lips alone) was gone. Probably for the better, but I was going to whine in my head regardless.

The fact that the winter holidays were approaching was the least comforting thought I had ever had.

I was dreading them.

“And here comes Ravenclaw! Davies, Burrow, Stretton! - ” when did Jordan began telling the game? I wondered. “And Chang!”

Madam Hooch had blown the whistle and all fourteen players were up in the air. The day was crisp and cold, and the sun shone hard on my back, but at least I could _see_ what was happening. It was  obvious that Ravenclaw would have no trouble defeating Hufflepuff.

“And Ravenclaw has the Quaffle! Captain Davies passes to Burrow, back to Davies who dodges a Bludger, Davies to Stretton, shoots and – ouch, that must have hurt. Blocked by Bludger from Hufflepuff beater O’Flaherty. I would not want to get on that girl’s bad side,” I shook my head. Ravenclaw had a strong team, but they underestimated Hufflepuff’s defence. “Hufflepuff in possession of the Quaffle, Preece flies over, refuses to pass over, shoots and misses! Great save by Keeper Page!”

The game went on like that for a few minutes in which Ravenclaw managed to score their first goal. Hufflepuff was playing to defend, perhaps aiming to achieve a second victory the way they had defeated Gryffindor: by miraculously catching the snitch. “And Ravenclaw scores! Good play by the beater! Hufflepuff back in possession-”  
I watched as the Hufflepuff beaters tried to protect their chasers, not realising that the Ravenclaw beater, Inglebee, had sent a Bludger straight at O’Flaherty’s head, knocking her out of her broom. “Gruesome,” I heard Willow murmur. “Completely barbaric.”

“She should have paid attention,” I replied as Stretton scored another goal for Ravenclaw, putting them up 30-0.

“Davies to Burrow to Stretton back to Burrow-”

“Eagle formation,” Adrian said, nodding his head in approval as Davies scored the fourth goal.

“Hufflepuff really couldn’t afford to lose that beater –she’s the best player in their team,” I said.  Hufflepuff’s chaser Preece had lost the Quaffle when a Bludger hit the back of his broom, forcing him to hold on with one hand and giving Burrow the perfect chance to score again. “Fleet is really an awful Keeper – that was an easy shot to save.”

Adrian snickered at my comment just as Ravenclaw caught hold of the Quaffle- again. “Stretton passes to Burrow who dives beneath Hufflepuff’s beater shoots and – is that the snitch?” my eyes dived up, where Chang and Diggory were racing each other, flying low over the Gryffindor stands. If Chang caught the snitch now I’d win another two galleons from Wood but if Diggory got there first…

They were up to par, Chang half an inch ahead of Diggory who was being slowed down by his weight. Both of their bodies were hunched over, chests pressed against their brooms as they sped around the border of the pitch. Chang stretched her arm, flexing her knees to gain more support. It looked like she was about to fall when- “Chang catches the snitch! Ravenclaw win 210-0!”

Cheers of victory erupted not only from the blue corner of the pitch, but also the red. Beside me, Adrian swore. “That’s a bummer,” he said getting up and stretching his back. “Now Gryffindor has a chance to win – if they beat Ravenclaw.”

I snorted, blowing hot air onto my hands. “Even then, they’d have to defeat Slytherin in the final by a margin of over one hundred points, wouldn’t they?”

“Yes, but our seeker is the dictionary definition of lousy.”

“And you are the definition of blood-traitor,” someone said behind us. I peeped over Adrian’s shoulder. Draco Malfoy was standing with his posé, brandishing a crisp piece of parchment. “Is it true then? Did your father disown you Pucey?”

Adrian’s hand clenched over my shoulder, but his eyes didn’t leave Malfoy’s. “My father just told me, you see,” the prat continued, nodding towards the letter in his hand. “Was she worth it?”

I caught Willow’s confused stare but Adrian grabbed my shoulders and began pushing forward. “The game is done, let’s go,” he said deadpanned. I tried to stop him and get him to talk, but I accidentally glanced down the field and felt nauseous. Without further complaint, I followed Willow’s lead down the stairs, feeling sicker with each of Malfoy’s taunting comments.

How did Adrian’s father find out?

oOo

“Blood traitor,” that was the fourth time that meal I heard those words being whispered in my general vicinity. Pissed off, I jumped in my seat, turned around and was ready to either hex of Muggle-hit whomever had said that when Adrian placed his hand on mine, and motioned for me to sit down and finish my supper.

“How can you stand it?” I asked, digging into my Sheppard’s pie and throwing the food into my mouth.

He shrugged, letting me know with a tap of his hand that I had ground beef on my cheek. “We need the points if we want to defeat Gryffindor, Liz.” I stared at him not believing a word that was coming out of his mouth. The whole of Slytherin house was out to get him –okay, maybe a bunch of third years –and he still cared about house points?  
Mental, I tell you.

“Adrian, your name has been defaced, your father sends you a howler disinheriting you, and you are here thinking about defeating Gryffindor at the house cup?”

He nodded. I threw my fork on top of my food, splattering mashed potatoes on both of us. News of his son’s affair with _a_ mudblood had reached the ears of Adrian’s father just as Malfoy had said. A howler had been delivered by the morning mail.

Purebloods are usually a bit quieter about such matters, but it seemed that this _rendezvous_ with the enemy had been the dropped the filled the cauldron. For all purposes, Adrian was disowned. And the whole bleeding school knew about it, too. “What else did you do to infuriate your family anyway? It can’t just have been Williams.”

My dislike for that woman had no foreseeable boundaries.

“My grades have slipped, I ditched artihmancy and stuck with care of magical creatures, I gave the house elf clothes, and I told my father that I didn’t give a damn about the family business,” he said, counting each occurrence with a finger. “I think they finally caught the message and burned me off the family tree. Couldn’t be happier, to be honest.”

“You are an idiot,” I said dumbfounded. He shrugged, grinned and went back to his kidney pie. “And pray tell, what are you thinking of doing now that you have been… ostracized?”

“Play Quidditch, what else?” he said as a matter of fact. “Pass the pumpkin juice.”

“Play Quidditch? You gave up a self-fulfilling _fortune_ , a prestigious name and inside information into the most exclusive clubs of wizarding society to _play Quidditch_?”

“Yes. Pass the pumpkin juice.”

I threw the jug at him. “I don’t get it.”  
“What is there to get, Lisa?” he said, wiping the table with a napkin. I had missed my target; the jug broke against the roast beef, not Adrian’s face.

“I _really_ couldn’t care less about everything you’ve just mentioned. In fact, I’m going to let in a little secret,” he leaned in, lifting a piece of hair away from my ear and whispered. “I let my father know about Abigail.”

“ _What_?”

He leaned back casually, almost forgetting there was nothing to lean on, and almost fell off the bench. He began laughing so hard I could appreciate the dimples in his cheeks and the stupidity oozing from his ears. Adrian hadn’t laughed like that in since… ever. “Can’t you see?” he said between chuckles, “I’m free now.”

I grimaced. “Free? Have you bumped your thick head against something? You’ve pretty much surrendered yourself to being... working class.”

“No Lisa, I’ve freed myself from a future I didn’t want.”

“Acquiring your father’s shares and companies which generate gold with minimum effort is not a desirable future?” I asked stupefied. This whole thing defied gravity.

“I never wanted his company anyway. Do you have any idea how boring it must be to own a company that sells cauldrons?” I shrugged, conceding; he did have a valid point there. “It’s a real bummer to have your life planned out by people that never bothered to get to know you.”

“So Quidditch it is?” I asked as the plates changed from main dishes to delicious desserts.

“Yes,” he replied, reaching for a piece of chocolate pudding.

“Did you really care for Williams, or was she just part of your plot?” I asked, stealing his pudding.

He grabbed another one and took a spoonful of it before replying. “At first, she was just a pawn, but as time went on I guess I became rather fond of her. In retrospect, not my brightest moment.”

“Something we can agree on,” I muttered under my breath

“In any case, I have other things to focus on now than witches. The next girl that gets the mickey out of me, will have to be a Slytherin or someone with just as much cunning. Gryffindors are more trouble than they are worth.”

“Aye aye,” I nodded, then shook my head in horror. Change of subject. “How did you inform your dear father, anyway?”

“I laid some of those lovely passages of her diary you so stole and hid in your trunk.”

“You need to stop going through my things, Pucey.” He sniggered and winked. I sneered at him, yet I couldn’t help but grin at him. The idiot was in for a lifetime of work and mediocrity – unless he made it to a good team, in which case he’d spend the best years of his life with groupies.

“Now the real question is,” he said after he had finished his pudding. “How do we get you disowned? Merlin knows your father would never approve of you revamping Witch Weekly.”

“Never, Pucey.” I said, “I’m quite content with a life as an upper class woman. I see no problems with a future arranged marriage,” He snorted, and sat back facing towards the other end of the hall, where the Weasley Twins seemed to be tormenting their overworked Captain.

* * *

 

I hated Weasley. Not only did he give me rounds on the last Thursday of term but he also made Terrence my partner.

We hadn’t spoken much lately. Terrence hadn’t taken Adrian’s disinheritance too well since he was a stuck up for pureblood beliefs and the idea that one of us could have engaged in coitus with a mudblood was disgusting.

Which it was, but only because Williams was the mudblood in question.

In two days, I’d be taking the Hogwarts express back to London which could only mean one thing: my father would begin pestering me about finding me a husband. I exhaled as we crossed another empty corridor. The prospect of being engaged sooner rather than later was quite daunting. Since my pool of prospective bachelors had been diminished to zero, it would probably be up to my father to find a suitable replacement.

Wizarding law had changed over the last couple of decades and most of the old-fashioned (red: misogynist) marriage laws had been either abolished or reformulated. No one could be forced into a magical marriage contract nowadays; both persons involved had to be willing and above all informed of what such a union would entail. Breaking binding magical contracts was a nightmare. So I knew my father couldn’t legally force me into anything I didn’t want, but things in the pureblood circle still functioned the old way.

I couldn’t be forced, but if I didn’t agree I would most likely the fate of all the other children who had gone against their family's wishes: blasted out of the family tree. It would mean being on my own for the first time in my life and, while I didn’t love all of my family members, I did owe them my loyalty. And besides, what could I do in the real world?

We were past the second floor and well on our way back to the dungeons in record time when Terrence stopped to inspect a painting. I kept walking past him for another ten meters before I realised he wasn’t by my side. Annoyed, I turned around ready to drag him if I had to.

“Higgs, hurry your blonde arse up! I have things to do,” I said grabbing his arm and attempting to drag him. Yup, didn’t go so well. He looked down at me and smiled in that sexy way that used to make my legs go jell-o on me. For a moment there, it worked. He faced me and began drawing closer, I could smell his cologne; it was my favourite one, the one that always made me want to snuggle closer to him so I could keep inhaling it. It was intoxicating.  
 _This couldn’t happen_ , I thought as different brain lobes fought for control.

I shook my head, trying to dispel the poison emanating from him. But when he put a hand on my waist and raised my face to his, I could feel myself giving in.

 “So, Lisa, you’re a respectable, pure-blooded woman”

“Glad to know it took you a decade to notice,” I said, concentrating on keeping my voice even and not breathing.

“That’s not what I meant,” he closed the space between us, forcing me to feel the heat of his body. “Remember our talk in the train, at the beginning of term? My proposal still stands, Liz. We could be good together.”

Yes, as stable as a Veela hair wand.

He began drawing circles on my lower back. I bit my lip, urging my hormones to become asexual and let me get out of here alive. “Terrence…”

“Shh,” he cut me off, placing a finger on my trembling lip. His green eyes found mine, and I was quickly drowning in them. Could I do this, marry Terrence?

It could work out, a part of me insisted; who else do you have to choose? What other options do you have?

He brought his lips closer to my cheek and left a small kiss there, moving closer to my lips. My eyes closed, feeling my heart beating faster the closer he got. I stifled a gasp when he kissed me, his lips melting with mine in a way that only Terrence could. My body gave in, grabbing him by the neck and pulling him down. I felt him grin against my lips, as our tongues battled for control.

My head was spinning confused with the overload of thoughts, sensations, and feelings. The more he deepened the kiss, the more it felt right to say yes and just get it over with it. I could marry Terrence, I could find stability and, in time, I could forgive and forget.

Images of that night at the end of last term swarmed into my mind. I remembered walking up the stairs, exhausted from a detention to find my boyfriend tangled with _her_ limbs, long legs intertwined with each other. I had stood there, stony face, mouth open watching, hearing him moan another woman’s name. The door shut with a deafening noise and I walked back down, my eyes refusing to water, my head refusing to accept it. Adrian had rushed to me but I had waved him back.

If I had to pinpoint a moment in which my life began to go downhill, as pathetic as it sounds, that would be it.

I disentangled myself from Terrence in one abrupt movement. His lips were still puckered, but his eyes were following my every move. We stared at each other for a few, long minutes before he broke the eerie silence. “Elizabeth?”

I shook my head, coming to a decision. If I was going to forsake my life for the purpose of my goals, then I needed to know. There was no point to a marriage with leftover trust issues. “Why did you sleep with her?”

Terrence looked taken aback, a slight frown marring his handsome features. “That again? I thought you’d gotten over it,” he said, putting his hands on his robe’s pockets. “It’s in the past now, Liz, just-”

“Don’t patronize me, Terrence,” I said crossing my arms against my chest and preparing myself for battle. “I want to know why.”

An unbelieving grin broke on his lips as put his hands back up in the air. “I was drunk, alright? I was pissed drunk, you weren’t there – I guess I wasn’t thinking.”  
“If you are going to lie, at least make it believable.”

A shadow crossed over his face, obscuring his eyes from sight. “You think I’m lying?” he took a few steps forward, I stood my ground. “I shagged her because I wanted to, Elizabeth. Plain and simple. Hopefully when we are married you’ll give in more and we won’t have to repeat that. Now would you please get over yourself and give me your left hand? I haven’t given you your ring yet.”

I didn’t move as he came closer. He reached for my hand, but I was quicker, my wand finding a nice spot beneath his throat. “I wouldn’t even think about going there, Higgs,” I hissed, digging my wand further into his skin. “Unless you want your head to resemble a fungus.”

“Have you gone mental?” he asked, trying to push my wand away but I snapped his fingers with it. “Get your wand off my face.”

“Not before I’m done hexing it to pieces.”

Terrence’s eyes changed; they had a derailed look about them, like a cat caught in a tight place. “Are you going to hex me, Liz? Please, you couldn’t lay a single finger on me unless it was to grant me immense-”

Green sparks emitted from my wand, burning small spots of skin where they landed. Terrence jumped backwards, staring at me as if I had gone loony. “Seriously mental… to think I ever thought about making you my wife-”

“Don’t flatter yourself, Terrece. A flobberworm wouldn’t be _honoured_ by being your wife.”

“Is that so?” he said with a mocking chortle. “Didn’t think so last term did you, when you cried to me because I had _disrespected you_. How could you, Terrence, I love you Terrence,” he said in a high pitched tone. “We both know I’m your weakness, Elizabeth. Now stop pretending.”

“ _The thing you should never do, Elizabeth_ ,” I remembered Adrian said when he had found me  crying behind a suit armour, “ _is falling in love; love will ruin everything,” Love will ruin everything_.

Brat’s going to be insufferable if I tell him this…

“I’m going to say this once and once only, Higgs,” I said, pointing my wand lower towards his chest. Tears prickled my eyes, and a lump had formed in my throat. Adrian had been only partially right; love can ruin everything, but it can be so worth it.

Too bad Terrence wasn’t.

“I want you to grab that ring, shove it up your arse and never speak to me again. Because if you do, so help me Merlin, I will hex those pretty green eyes out and give them to the giant squid inside a martini glass.” Terrence shot me a disbelieving look before smirking and walking away. I heard him discussing my many mental issues as he put more distance between us.

Only when he was out of sight did I let out the breath I had been holding in.

* * *

 

Friday night I came back to the common room well after dinner had ended. I had kidnapped Penelope in the library and begged her to help me finish my Arithmancy essay so I could hand it in before leaving for the winter holidays. That girl was a charm, honestly. Not only did she help me finish it, but we also spent a quiet evening discussing Quidditch. It was refreshing to talk to someone who doesn’t have constant ulterior motives and just what the healer ordered: common sense.

The common room was in chaos. People were gathered in a right circle, some were cheering, some were shouting, all were laughing. Deciding that I was old enough to bully, I yanked a second year by his collar back and asked him what was going on. “Pucey and Higgs are dueling,” he said excitedly. I dropped him and began forcing my way through the group. I could now hear Willow yelling for them to stop narrowing missing a stream of red sparks. She caught my eyes and made a mad dash towards me.

“Help me stop them!” she urged, grabbing me from my cloak and pulling me into the fighting circle. The blokes’ faces looked like they meant the cruciatus curse.

“No way in hell,” I dug my shoes into the carpet and she stopped pulling me. Instead she glared at me and yelled, all the time pointing her finger at the two. “You do know the fight is over you, don’t you?” she screamed before running back into the mayhem. Flint jumped from the audience and grabbed her from behind; she shrieked and kicked like a madwoman, but the troll was stronger.

I was looking back and forward to the fighters, who had now dropped their wands and were beating the living crap out of each other Muggle-style. I bit my lip, knowing Willow was right-no one was going to intercede, we all had too much self-preservation to do something so noble (where are the Gryffindors when you need them?) And what the hell did she mean they were fighting over _me_? Last time they fought over me was to see whose essay I was going to rewrite first.

And it never got to this point.

I stared at the only person I cared about being beaten. I was afraid to admit it to myself, but Adrian seemed to be losing this one. I began fidgeting, wondering, pondering… I felt shameful as I stood there doing nothing, ignoring Willow’s mad shrieks.

To everyone’s surprise, Flint threw Willow on top of Darlene, and removed Terrence’s fist from Adrian’s nose. “That’s enough,” he said baring his teeth, “I need my chaser.” Terrence glared at him with hatred, but stood up and composed himself. He left the room without saying anything. Adrian was left crouching on the floor, his nose broken and bleeding

Willow removed herself from Darlene and kneeled next to Adrian. His eyes were closed and he wasn’t reacting, she slapped him gently on the face until he opened his eyes. I could almost see the effort it took her to lift him up, putting his arm around her tiny shoulders. It was the moment when my eyes met Adrian’s that I understood just what kind of person I truly am.

I rushed to them, and with my help lifting Adrian’s dead weight didn’t become easy but at least it was manageable. Slowly but surely, we carried him towards our bedroom. In an unbelievable act of chivalry, Flint ran ahead of us to open the door. We dropped him on Willow’s bed, the nearest to the door.

The witch yelled at Flint to run to the loo and grab a dittany bottle. I began cleaning the blood from his face with the satin sheets. Willow moved quickly to begin healing. I summoned one of Darlene’s many make up containers, cleared it up of its contents and filled it with water. Willow was dabbing at his wounds from the bottle of dittany Flint had brought her before leaving.

We worked in silence. I managed not to think, concentrating instead of healing his nose. Sometime later, Flint walked into the room to ask if his chaser was still alive. Willow threw a book at him, which he dodged.

Cleaning all the blood and fixing his nose took the best part of an hour, mainly because neither one of us was very good at this. In the end, we only had a black eye to deal with for which Willow froze the water in Darlene’s face powder container and wrapped it up in a piece of cloth. I grabbed it from her before she could place it on his eyes and asked her to leave. She threw me a nasty look before complying.

“How are you feeling?” I asked slowly, placing the frozen container on his eye. His hand grabbed mine and he squeezed, a small smile forming on his previously broken lips.

“Who knew Higgs could fight like that?” he said, coughing up a bit of blood which I promptly cleaned up. “My face is swollen, isn’t it?”

“Like a Hallowe’en pumpkin.”

I could tell it hurt him to chuckle. After a few minutes, he took the cloth from my hands and grabbed it himself “Why didn’t you tell me he proposed to you?”

I looked at him, puzzled. “Is that what this was about?” He nodded. “You are so… stupid.”

“I told him you were marrying me,” he continued talking. “He didn’t like that.”  
“Why would you tell him that?”

“So he’d leave you alone. You deserve much better than him.”

No I don't.

* * *

It was almost curfew when I stumbled into the Gryffindor locker room. The grounds were deserted, as most students were enjoying their last night in the castle. The Gryffindor captain? He was going over plays in his little office.

“Sarah?” he looked up from his desk when I walked in. I made a beeline for the dilapidated maroon couch that was stuck in the corner of the room. My legs were about to give up under me, so I let myself fall down on it, for once not caring if it was full of pixies or if my skirt rode up to excessive lengths. Adrian had fallen asleep on my bed after a while, and Willow was by his side looking after him. I needed some fresh air.

“Are you alright?” came Wood’s concerned voice, much closer than I had expected. I couldn’t bear to look at him. What would he think? I was a scoundrel, had placed my own safety over that of my friend’s.

“Sarah, what’s wrong?” he was by my side, placing an arm over my shoulder and pulling me in, so my arm-cradled head was resting in the nook of his neck. The warmth of his skin was enough to send me into hysterical sobbing. “Sarah, please don’t cry, tell me what’s wrong,” he pushed me harder against him, my fingers tangling up on the front of his robes and drinking in all the warmth he had to give. Because I figured that was really was I was, wasn’t it? A blood sucking leech.

Wood stroked my back and kept telling me it would be alright. I clung tighter each time he said so, wanting so to believe there was something right with me. Wood made me feel even worse. How could I allow myself to be comforted by someone who above all was good?

I’m just too selfish to push him away. And too stubborn to admit I needed him.

 


	14. Promised

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Elizabeth!” I heard a cry coming from downstairs. Cursing, I shoved all the parchment back inside the tiny book and tucked it beneath my arm. Quickly, I made my way out of the room, locking it before dashing back to my bedroom. Father was just finishing coming up the stairs when I poked my head out of my room. “There you are. What have you been doing? He asked, looking at my dust-covered robes with obvious disapproval.
> 
> Wordlessly, I showed him the copy of Beetle’s tales. He sighed. “Aren’t you a little old for children’s tales, Elizabeth?”
> 
> “I was bored.”

## 

I knew I was in for a very bad holiday when I overslept only to realize I still hadn’t packed my stuff. Cursing, I jumped off bed, put yesterday’s clothes on, and started throwing things into my trunk. By eight thirty, the truck wouldn’t close so I had to magically bind it with ropes. I’d deal with the wrinkles later, and if I forgot my arithmancy textbook on my bedside table (it happens), all the better.

I rushed through the empty corridors. Figures no one woke me up. I didn’t even have time to grab a toast from the great hall.  I run through a good twenty centimetres of snow to the last carriage, and then again to the soon-departing train where Hagrid was standing. He waved at me ever so slightly. “You're late!” he growled (arlgiht, said,) to me as I levitated my trunk into the train. I smirked at him in response.

“Fashionably late,” I replied before jumping inside, just as it began to move. I punched the air in celebration. A bunch of second years looked at me oddly before making themselves scarce. I patted my hair down, grabbed my luggage, and began walking down the aisle.

The Slytherin’s were all cramped together (minus Adrian, who was staying at Hogwarts) in the same compartment. I opened the door with a bang and proceeded to glare at the lot of them.

“Good morning, sunshines,” I said with a nasty smile before taking a seat next to Willow.

Darlene’s lips curled over her teeth. “Didn’t think you would make it, Elizabeth.”

“Never underestimate me, Darlene dear,” I replied with a smirk, stealing a cauldron cake that was laying around on the table. I heard Darlene said something, but all I could (or wanted) to hear was “blah blah blah.” Fortunately though, she went out to look for whomever she was shagging that week a few minutes later.

With the blonde gone though, the atmosphere took a turn for the sour. Willow still looked peeved about yesterday; Terrence was, of course, rather upset and sporting a large bruise on his temple. Flint was smirking like a complete idiot while twiddling his thumbs, probably imagining Woody in various compromising positions.

I choked on my own saliva. Willow threw me a furtive glance before going back to the book she was reading. I was bored. I wanted a book, but if I opened my trunk all my underwear would burst out of it and I really didn’t want Flint to know I own a pair of girly pink knickers. I needed a good distraction. Something to take away the bitter taste that was still lodged in my throat from everything that had happened yesterday.

After Wood had heard me out, or rather saw me spill every last drop of tears in my system, he had walked me back to the dungeon despite the fact that it was past curfew. We had reached a whole new definition of awkward. I mean, what do you say to the bloke that held you crying for a good solid hour, never found out the reason, and then you walked back to your dormitory while risking being caught by Filch?

Not even I am that good with words.

Not knowing what else to do, and not wanting to think too much, I contented myself with fidgeting in my seat and counting tiles. An hour and a hundred forty-seven tiles later, I decided I had enough and left the compartment to go for a walk.

The corridors were downright cold. And empty, allowing me to wander aimlessly without paying attention. Of course, that usually is a bad idea.

“Look where you’re going you prick,” I yelled, rubbing my sore arse before looking up to see just who I had bumped into. Merlin hates me, I just know it.

“Here, let me help you up,” Wood said with a forced smile, offering me his hand, which I ignored, much preferring to get up on my own thank you. “Why are you still wearing your uniform?”

I looked down at my wrinkled clothes with just a bit of disgust. “I woke up late and these were the only things nearby I could put on,” actually, I think I slept with my quilt on, but I can’t remember for sure.

He pursed his lips and stood there, hands in his trousers pockets, looking like someone who had a lot of things to say but didn’t know how to. I was staring at my shoes, the front was starting to peel off and I couldn’t remember when that begun or why - I’m normally on top of my shoes if overwhelmed by everything else.

“So what are you doing during break?”

“Same thing I do every year. Visit mum, convince Armand he’s gay, and go to that stupid ball…” oh yes, and get engaged most likely, did I mention that?

His eyes lit up. “You going this year then?”

I shrugged. “My father is probably going to force me like he does every year…” choice isn’t a big thing in my family. Oli-Wood looked at me oddly, making my lack of breakfast squirm in my intestines. Probably hunger; I’d have to hunt down the trolley lady before noon.

“How are you doing?” he asked, taking a tentative step forward. I looked out the window, it had started to snow. How was I? Merlin, if I knew. Instead of replying, I just shrugged. “Do you want to talk about it?”

 _Yes_! But acting on ones wants isn’t necessarily the smartest choice, so I shook my head. “It’s fine, you did enough,” I replied, avoiding his gaze. I had the slight suspicion that if I stared straight into his chocolate brown eyes, I would lose all sense of composure and throw myself at him and I really couldn’t afford that. Whatever butterflies I had felt last night when he gave me a quick peck on the cheek needed to die a most painful death.

“Sarah-” he opened his mouth and closed it again. I knew where his line of thought was going, and it was as dangerous as my increasingly hard-to-control urge to push him inside a compartment and snog him senseless.

“What is wrong with me?” I muttered, so he couldn’t hear me.

Or so I thought.

“What did you just say?” bugger. I looked into his eyes, his face was morphed between amusement and concern and my willpower was being tested beyond limits. I needed an escape and I needed it now, before I did something stupid.

My rescuer came in the shape of Sir Flint, sauntering down the hall and stopping just behind Wood. “Tsk tsk Montieth,” he said baring his teeth. “Don’t tell me you are humiliating yourself with half-bloods too,” he bumped Wood’s shoulder as he walked around him and standing beside me. “Willow is looking for you; you should go talk to her before she pierces my eardrums.”

“That’s your best, Flint? Not too brave without three other minions are you?” I heard Wood retaliate; Flint sneered before looking over to engage the dork.

 **“** Want to bet, Woody?”

Annoyed, but relieved, I put myself in between them to stop a fight from occurring. Unfortunately, though, from this position I could feel Wood’s hot breathing upon my neck and, for some stupid reason, I found it distracting. “Enough,” I said. “Don’t make me take points.”

Flint burst into laughter. “You really are something Montieth,” he said with a wink. Wood behind me shifted closer. Not wanting to deal with this testosterone issues, I pushed Flint forward to lead him back to the compartment. I turned my head to say goodbye to Wood but he wasn’t there anymore.

Bugger.

* * *

 

“Are those shoes allowed at Hogwarts?” Armand said as way of greeting. The slight snow from earlier had turned the platform into winter wonderland, and while the temperatures remained acceptably cold, I was frozen down to my toes. “You look like a harlot in them.”

“And I am delighted to see you are still the same arsehole,” I said as I let my trunk fall on my brother’s little toes. He screamed in pain before clutching his hurt foot. I smirked.

“Mental,” an exact replica of my cold, blue eyes stared at me amused while still clutching his foot. Amusement was one of the few emotions Armand knew how to show; the other two were contempt and indifference. I could probably count in one hand the amount of times I had seen a genuine smile reach his eyes.

Without another word, he turned my trunk into a small bag and offered it to me. “Whatever happened to chivalry?” I asked. He shrugged his shoulders and motioned me to move out of the platform. We greeted a few family acquaintances that were scattered throughout, before existing in silence.

He was my favourite out of my three brothers, even though we had six years between us. All four of us had been sorted into Slytherin, of course, as had my parents and my grandparents. But William, the oldest, was too similar to mum: quiet but not brooding, caring but not overbearing, and above all, chivalrous. I always thought he would have done wonderfully in Hufflepuff.

Nicholas, the second youngest, was exactly like father; as cold and unfeeling as a marble statue and as handsomely carved as one. Armand and I fell somewhere in the middle, I figured.

We apparated to the cemetery straight from the platform, never walking out into muggle London. Nicholas and William were waiting outside the old iron gate as was customary. The former was pacing, causing a rip in the small blanket of snow which had already accumulated, while William leaned against the brick wall. We greeted each other with a curt nod, before making a beeline for the entrance. I walked in silence behind them as we marched through the well-known path that lead to our mother’s grave.

The place looked the same it did each year, perhaps a little more decayed. The tombstones around us were covered in snow and some had a flower or a bouquet. There was this old oak tree near my mum’s where I had always sought comfort when I was a child and was forced to visit. I looked at it longingly, knowing I was too old to run away.

We stood in formation around the grave, Armand and I on one side, William kneeling the closest and Nicholas the furthest back. Unlike me, he didn’t make a pretend show of how little he wanted to be here.

I didn’t have many memories of my mother, all I could remember was soft hair and kind hazel eyes. I could see her features when I looked at William. But I knew very little about her, what she had been like, what her laughter sounded like. All I knew was that she had died before my seventh birthday, after spending a lot of time at St. Mungo’s for an unidentified illness that claimed her life.

“Hello mum,” William whispered, his voice as soft as a feather. When I was a kid and had nightmares, he would stay with me late into the night playing with my hair until I fell asleep. Being the oldest I always assumed he thought it his responsibility to be the paternal one in lack of parents. “How are you doing? We’ve all come to visit… Nicholas, Armand, Elizabeth…” I could feel the pressure behind my eyelids but forced them to stay open. The silence was deafening, the only constant sound was all of our haggard breathing punctuated by William’s soft words.

Armand’s hand was intertwined with mine. I knew he missed her and the old jealousy I had for my brothers surged. It wasn’t fair that because I had been born last, I had known her the least. I couldn’t remember her voice, or the touch of her hand. Only a faded memory of a soft goodnight kiss.

It wasn’t fair that I was the one who grew up without a mother.

William kneeled down and deposited the bouquet of sunflowers we brought her each year. I smiled feeling a bittersweet urge to cry. Sunflowers were my favourite flowers too – they were like a little bout of sunshine in the middle of an eternal winter. Armand squeezed my hand, and I realized I had been crying.

“Merry Christmas, mum.”

* * *

 

The next morning I woke up with a headache that made most of my hangovers feel like fluffy little bunnies. With my legs shaking, I forced myself out of bed and into the loo to wash my face with cold water. I felt nauseous and wished Adrian could be here. On top of all, I looked every bit as bad as I felt.

Groaning, I changed out of yesterday’s clothes and into something that was both clean and comfortable. I pulled my hair back into a low ponytail, and clipped my fringe away from my eyes. I didn’t look presentable by any means, and I knew that father would make a comment or two about it but I really didn’t give a damn.

As expected, father was sitting in the drawing room reading the prophet. I walked down the stairs quietly. He looked up when I stepped on the loose board I always forgot to tip-toe around.

“That’s not proper attire for breakfast,” he said curtly going back to his newspaper. “I thought I taught you better.” I mentally rolled my eyes; it’s seven in the morning and besides, who else is going to be seeing me, the house elf? She wears an old pillowcase for Merlin’s sake!

I took a seat on my father’s left and helped myself to some tea and toast. The house elf had left some rosehip jam nearby.

“What are your plans for today?” my father asked, folding the paper neatly and putting it to the side.

“I have some school matters to work on,” like sleeping until noon the moment you step out of the house.

He nodded. “Will Mr. Higgs be visiting us in the coming days?”

You mean will he be coming over to ask for my hand in marriage? Savvy pops, no can do.

“No.”

He stopped midway through lifting his cup to his lips to frown at me. I took a long, careful sip of my boiling tea and waited. “Things have not gone… according to plan?”

“No.”

He nodded again, more to himself than to me it seemed; a trouble look hung on his slightly downward turned lips. “Is there another respectable suitor I should know about?”

“No.”

“Would you trust my judgment?” I locked eyes with him. Did I trust his judgment? Well, what’s the worse that could happen? I can always say no.

“Yes.”

“Very well. I shall make arrangements. I guess I had hopped you’d choose for yourself but if not, a young witch –” he stopped mid-sentence and sighed before getting up. “Are you sure? There is time.”

I stared at my cup thinking. I could still go back to Terrence and accept his offer; I could handle Terrence, but could I trust myself with him? He was a rotten apple that had made me sick one too many times. If I could look past all that and learn to live with nausea, then perhaps I could find some semblance of happiness in that union…

Adrian’s mauled face appeared in my mind followed by Willow’s accusing words.

“ _Have you no shame? He’s the only person in this blasted place that actually cares about you!”_

I took a deep breath, playing with the porcelain cup. What else could I do? Whichever husband I picked was a sentence to a life as a pureblood wife. And did I really think I could do better than Terrence Sodding Higgs?  
A small voice in the incoherent, slightly Gryffindor-affected part of my brain, whispered that yes, I could, that I deserved better. I pushed it and whatever treacherous images it dared conjure up to the back of my mind. The truth was, I was too old to delude myself into thinking love and happiness were achievable goals. Only power, prestige and status mattered; the other two were mere commodities. Had seven years in Slytherin taught me nothing?

“I reserve my right to reject your choice, however.”

My father nodded, and avoided my eyes. We finished our breakfast in silence. “Your rights shall be respected. Let us hope my choice will be pleasing. Have a good morning, Elizabeth,” he gave my shoulder a small pat before walking over to the fireplace and disappearing amongst the green fire.

The tightness in my chest threatened to burst and I surprised myself when I realized I was holding back a sob. I finished my breakfast in silence and made my way upstairs to my room. My trunk was where I had left it; the bed sheets were now neatly arranged on the bed. My hair-brush and perfume bottles were organized on my vanity and all my books were arranged by author’s last name. I thought about colour coding then, but then remembered that the last time I did that I went mental trying to find them afterwards.

Instead, I pulled my textbooks out of my trunk and put them in their right places inside the bookcase. My clothes were already hanging. I organized my shoes, colour coding these ones. It was barely eight thirty when I was done. Giving my homework a partial glance, I decided I wasn’t in the mood for it. Instead, I shoved it back inside my trunk and closed it so it wouldn’t stare at me guiltily.

“Mimi,” I called the house elf who apparated immediately.

“Missus called?” she said with her squeaky voice. Mimi looked the same, a little older perhaps, a little thinner. I gave her a small smile.

“Is there any part of this house that you haven’t been cleaning lately?” Her bright hazel eyes widened and she rushed towards a chair. I caught her by the back of her pillowcase before she could bang her head against it.

“Mimi is sorry, missus. Mimi tries but the house is too big, Mimi is a bad elf!”

I rolled my eyes and waved a hand, a gesture she understood as a silencing command. “I meant to say, I am quite distressed today and cleaning quiets my mind. Is there any room where I could do that?”

Mimi, one small hand still grabbing on to the chair, stared at me with confusion, then apprehension. “There is one room, but is master finds out-“  
“He won’t. Now tell me, which one is it?” I twisted my hands together, itching for something to do. The elf stared at me for a moment longer before replying.

“Mistress’ old study, of course”

* * *

 

If the thick layers of dust on the floor were anything to go by, my mother’s study hadn’t been opened since her death. I told Mimi to leave all of the keys I’d need to open the various cabinets and not to bother me until lunch time.

I inhaled the mouldy smell of forgetfulness and coughed. My first stop was to open the blinds and let some light in. I was soon enveloped in a twister of dust and pixie eggs. Bugger.

Deciding to leave the pests for later, I took a moment to look at the room around me.

It was small. Three windows provided most of the light, diffused by a cloud of floating dust. A large desk stood close to the wall on my left with an old arm chair next to it. The only other piece of furniture was a dilapidated green velvet couch that I dared not touch and a bookcase.

I made a beeline for it.

My mother had been an avid reader; her books and magazines were stored in lines of three, making use of most of the scarce space. Squealing with glee, I took all of the books down and began deciding on a strategy to organizing them. The first book I opened was an old copy of a History of Magic by Bathilda Bagshot. My mother had written her name on the first page. I traced the curves of her handwriting. We both curled our o’s similarly and never quite close dour a’s – McGonagall had given me a lot of lines during first year to try and correct that. I smiled and placed the book towards the side.

I proceeded like that for a few hours, cleaning each book of years’ worth of dust layers before organizing them by author; I left the ones I wanted to take to my room on a separate pile. I found several old school books, a few novels (even some muggle ones, someone called Jane Austen? I took those) and quite a large stack of old Witch Weekly. I pocketed the lot of them; they contained the same ridiculous articles with a few added witty remarks by my mom. I spent a good forty minutes just reading some of them

It was close to three in the afternoon when I picked up a book that was far heavier than it should have been. It was a very old copy of Tales of the Beedle and the Bard but it weighted more than entire set of potions encyclopaedias. Intrigued, I tried to open it only to break a nail; it wouldn’t budge. I grabbed my wand, “Alohomora.”

Nothing. The book remained tightly shut and slightly mocking. “Bugger,” I said, my eyes fixated on the little blue book which magically opened with a soft click. “Bugger? Really mum?”

I opened it over my lap ready to flip to some of my favourite childhood stories when a pile of parchment fell down. My brows furrowed. Well, at least that explained the extra weight – there was enough parchment there for three big goats. I gathered it all and took it towards the desk. Sitting down, I spread them on the empty surface, removing two half-used candlesticks and a dried up ink bottle and began to read.

It quickly became apparent to me that this was a lifetime’s worth of correspondence, organized by sender and date. I snorted. It was comforting to know that I wasn’t the only obsessive person in my family.

There were letters from my grandparents, from her time at Hogwarts, letters from my father beginning sometime in her last years of school, and official Hogwarts correspondence (she’d been a prefect too). There were letters from people whom I recognize and many that I didn’t. And then, there were letters by a certain E.B. I licked my lip as I eyed them; they were a particularly large bunch which seemed to span years. The oldest ones were from the mid 1960’s, placing my mum somewhere between third and sixth year. The last letter was from the year in which you-know-who fell.

“Elizabeth!” I heard a cry coming from downstairs. Cursing, I shoved all the parchment back inside the tiny book and tucked it beneath my arm. Quickly, I made my way out of the room, locking it before dashing back to my bedroom. Father was just finishing coming up the stairs when I poked my head out of my room. “There you are. What have you been doing? He asked, looking at my dust-covered robes with obvious disapproval.

Wordlessly, I showed him the copy of Beetle’s tales. He sighed. “Aren’t you a little old for children’s tales, Elizabeth?”

“I was bored.”

“So it would seem. We’re having guests for dinner, do make yourself presentable and act like the pureblood lady that must be in there somewhere,” he said, pinching his nose before moving upstairs towards his dormitory. I shut the door and hid the book beneath my pillow, like I used to when I was a child in case he came in looking. I went towards the bathroom for a much needed bath and resurfaced a good forty five minutes later. Of all days for my father to host a sodding dinner party, he had to choose this one. I dried my hair with my wand and let it fall down. I didn’t look dashing by any standard, but I figured I was passable enough.

I slipped on a pair of black pumps and made my way downstairs. Nicholas was lounging in the sitting room, drinking some firewhiskey on the rocks. He whistled at me when I took a seat on a nearby dragon-skin sofa.

“Looking good, little sis,” he said with a nasty grin. “I’m sure your _beau_ will be most satisfied.”

I narrowed my eyes. “ _Beau_?”

He laughed and finished his drink in one, long gulp. “Didn’t father tell you? He made all of the necessary arrangements this morning – they are in their way here tonight to finalize it,” he motioned for Mimi to refill his empty glass. “Unless, of course, you object?”

“Ri-right now?” I asked, feeling my throat constrict.

The bell rang and Mimi rushed out of the room to attend to ti. I stared at my brother in a daze. I was getting engaged _today_? Salazar, I hadn’t even been home for a whole day! I hadn’t planned anything-

Then again, wasn’t the purpose of this whole thing to have everything planned?

“Here he comes,” Nicholas said with badly concealed glee. I glared at him before standing up, reminding myself that I couldn’t be forced to commit to anything. I stood up and dusted off my dress before turning around to see the bloke my dad had picked for me.

“Oh bloody hell,” we both said at the same time.

 


	15. Biscuits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two dinner courses later and I was having second thoughts. We were almost done with dessert. The details would be finalized over tea and biscuits.
> 
> Biscuits. My future was being decided over biscuits.

## 

Marcus Effing Flint sat before me at the dinner table, staring at me with his trademark sneer while he ate with his mouth open. Our parents and my brother were chatting amiably, while we had hardly said a word during the entire soiree. In fact, I was positive we were having an unspoken glaring contest (which I was winning.)

Before dinner was served, my father had taken me aside. “I believe you know young master Marcus from school.”

“Yes. The idiot failed enough N.E.W.T.S. to warrant coming back for an eight year.”

My father’s eyes narrowed, whether at me insulting his choice or learning this tidbit of information I wasn’t sure. “Are you content with him? We have everything ready to proceed with finalizing the arrangement tonight, unless either one of you opposes…”

I looked over my father’s shoulders and my eyes caught Flint’s. His face was devoid of his usual sneer. For a moment, he looked childlike and vulnerable. I sighed. Things could’ve been a whole lot worse; at least his teeth were fixed. “Yes father, I consent,” I said and walked over to the dinner table.

Two dinner courses later and I was having second thoughts. We were almost done with dessert. The details would be finalized over tea and biscuits.

Biscuits. My future was being decided over biscuits.

I couldn’t be forced; the contract would detect coercing and annul itself. The old laws had been abolished about a century ago; witches and wizards had to enter binding contracts out of their own free will – but _wanting_ or _desiring_ to enter such a contract was not a condition. My father had no legal leverage over me; my mother’s will had left me a nice enough amount of gold that would carry me for at least two years, and I knew from overhearing William that father was borrowing money from Gringotts as it was. And then, of course, there was the tiny but rather important fact called this-is-what-I-always-dreamed-of.

I should be happy, right? Flint _was_ pureblood. His family _was_ well-off. And his teeth _were_ straight. I’ll know how to fix them should the little brats inherit them.

I finished the last of my pudding, having tasted none of it, and sat against the back of my chair. My mind was running at full speed trying to find an acceptable solution that wouldn’t compromise my social standing.

I _couldn’t_ marry Terrence, he was a git.

I couldn’t marry Adrian; that was just, ew.

I could bide my time and see who else was available… only to end up an old spinster or married to one.

Flint, at least, was manageable.

“Why don’t we retire to the drawing room? Our house elf can bring us tea there,” my father said getting up and motioning for the rest to follow him. Nicholas had to nudge me in the ribs to get me on my feet.

Once we were seated, my father and Flint’s began reading over the formal magical contract. Flint was listening to every word, and Nicholas had to nudge me on the ribs when the time to sign came. Apparently, I had verbally agreed a few minutes ago and forgot all about it.

It was decision time and I wished for a daisy so I could pluck it’s petals off.

To marry Flint. To not marry Flint. To marry Flint…

I stared at the piece of parchment in front of me like it was a bleeding mandrake. Father cleared his throat, signaling that I was vacillating too much. Nicholas nudged my elbow, a thin black line etching itself on the paper.

“I am perfectly capable of signing on my own,” I said with a glare.

He curled his lips over his teeth. “This is what you’ve always wanted, isn’t it sis?”

I averted his eyes and focused them on the parchment in front of me. Was this what I wanted? What else could I want? Terrence had taught me there was no such thing as marrying with love (or ‘caring for each other’). I looked over at Flint; he looked nervous, his hands were shaking where he had balled them into fists. At this point, he had more to lose in terms of ego than I did; I would just be called a prissy little princess and we would proceed to the next suitor. To be rejected so far along into the arranging would be a low blow. But what about me? I could always get a different arrangement, although different was no guarantee of better.

Was Flint the best I could do after all?

One word from me (or Flint, but he seemed to have lost his voice) and everything would be thrown overboard… but then what? I had never bothered to plan further ahead than this moment, and did I have the courage to wing it on my own? Would I be better of engaged?

I sighed, before placing my quill on top of the accidental line and scribbled, signaling my agreement to this thing. My ears were deaf to the half-hearted cheers. The parchment emitted a faint golden glow before going back to normal.

The ink dried slowly over the parchment, like the last water deposits in a desert.

I felt my throat constrict, like someone was choking me even though no one was touching me. The quill quivered in between my fingers as I stared at the signed parchment. I shook my head; I was being downright silly. What was I expecting it to do? Catch on fire signaling it hadn’t gone through?

This is what I’ve always wanted…

I closed my eyes and inhaled, letting the feather quill fall from my hands, splattering ink on the table. I _chose_ this, _I chose this_ ; I chanted inside my head, and I can’t go back now. And with that thought, I excused myself from the room, and took the stairs two a time. I locked the door to my room and threw myself on top of my bed, where I muffled a scream with a pillow.

If this was all I ever wanted, if I chose this out of my own free will, why did I feel like I had signed my life away?

“Elizabeth?” came a soft knock on my door. I lifted my face from my pillow, and wiped at my damp cheeks. “Elizabeth, is anything wrong? Marcus wanted to speak with you he-”

“I’m not going back downstairs,” I said, struggling to keep my trembling lip from making my voice shake, “I don’t feel too well. Surely you’ll give me a moment’s peace?” There was silence on the other side, followed by a sigh.

“I thought this was what you wanted,” my father said, and in the darkness, it sounded caring. “He’s your age, has favourable connections- He promised me he’d take care of you as if he loved you.”

I hiccupped, and covered my mouth with both my hands. Flint had _said_ that? Blimey. “It is, I do-want it. Please, one evening alone, is all I ask.”

“Very well, I will inform your betrothed,” I waited until the sounds of footsteps had died away before crawling inside the bed, and pulling the blankets on top of my head.  I turned on my side, facing the window. It was a clear night, and it was snowing. I scowled and turned to face the door. I turned and twisted as the clock marked the hours going by, eventually settling on my back. The roof of my room illuminated by the waning moon. If I focused, I could count the branches reflected by the moonlight.

What I really wanted was for someone to tell me that everything would work itself out. Sometimes, I wished life were a book I had already read so I would always know the ending. The thought came to me as fast as a Firebolt. I fished beneath my pillow and retrieved the old copy of Beedle’s stories. My wand was on my bedside table; I grabbed it and lit it. “Lumos.”  
I started with the first batch of letters, the ones written by what seemed like an old friend of my mum’s, Grace Lubly.

I spent the next two days locked up in my room reading my mum’s old correspondence; I read everything from her Hogwarts letters to my father’s courtship ones which resembled business letters than romantic ones. They lacked all the juicy details that made letters personal.

I always knew my parent’s marriage was one of convenience, but I never thought it would be so cold. At last, I reached the letters by E.B.

_Dear S.D._

_Meet me by the corridor near the charms corridor. Make sure Pringle doesn’t catch you._

_Love, E.B._

There were about a dozen notes like these, plus some which were clearly passed during class. They even played hangman a couple of times. But they never wrote down their real names.

_Dear S.D._

_I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have criticized your family… You are right._

_Please forgive me?_

_Love, always, E.B._

There was three years worth of apologies, some promising candy. He reminded me of Wood.

_Dear S.D._

_I’m in Paris with my folks. The city is beautiful but I miss you terribly. One day, we’ll come here together. I’m sending you a little something I know you’ll enjoy._

Love, E.B.

The contrast between E.B.’s letters and my father’s was ginormous. I think I was half in love with the bloke by the end of it.

_Dear S.D._

_This is probably the last letter I’ll ever write to you. I can’t say I’m not devastated. I feel like a fool – all of my friends told me this would happen, but I always argued that it wouldn’t, that you were different from the rest. I suppose I have only myself to blame._

_I hope I can learn to love another like I’ve loved you, but I’m a realistic person. The best I can do is to wish you happiness._

_Love, always,_

_E.B._

 There was one question that kept resurfacing, why the bad attempt at secrecy and why the abrupt ending? Surely my mother, proper pureblood witch and what not, must have dated only proper wizards. Although, if that had been the case, why did she marry my father if she wanted another? The newer laws have been in place for close to a century now…

“ _All my friends said this would happen_.”

I scrunched my face in concentration, biting my lower lip in the process. Did she fancy a muggle born, then? That would fit the puzzle but it also raised a whole new set of questions. My head was pounding, and  I decided it was time for a long, hot bubble bath. With that thought to cheer me up, I got up and stretched. Only when I glanced down did I noticed cramped pieces of parchment which I hadn’t yet perused.

Curiosity never being one of my weakest traits, I picked it up and read it.

_S.D.,_

_Surprise doesn’t begin to explain what I am going through right now. Frustration, anger, indignation – those are far better adjectives. I wish I could say ‘good riddance’ but we both know I am not that type of bloke (which is probably why you’ve owled me, you cunning snake)._

_I’ll meet with you at the proposed time and place._

_E.B._

My blood ran cold with each word.

_S.D._

_Jane will come to understand, as will my little girls. The plan will proceed accordingly. Grace and Adelaine are on board._

_Don’t fret now; Paris will be a new start for both of us._

_Be cautious and don’t give him any more reasons to suspect you (but I really don’t think I need to tell you that)._

_We’ll be together soon._

_Love, always,_

_E.B._

* * *

 

“Elizabeth, dear, you must be ecstatic, a summer wedding how absolutely wonderful,” Mrs. Rowle said in between sipping her tea. I wanted to melt into my chair. April’s eyes, William’s wife, were burning a hole into my skull. I smiled non-committally before taking a sip of my cold tea as well.

The only thing I had to be thankful for was the fact that Darlene wasn’t present.

“Tell me, dear, have you got any plans for it yet?”

“Come on now, Megaera, the engagement took place less than a week ago, I am sure the child has barely had time to begin planning,” Mrs. Malfoy chided with a saccharine smile, reaching over to grab a biscuit.

News of my engagement to Flint had traveled somewhat quicker in some circles,  though not all of them thank Merlin. Mrs Flint had enough sense to want to keep it low key until we finished school, least the Ministry thinks the old custom of betrothing young witches the moment they turned of age was still active (which of course, it was). There were rumours going around urging caution; the Ministry was thinking of banning pre-nuptial contracts all together. They were nasty pieces of magical arrangements after all, they were binding magical contracts which meant almost impossible to break once signed. There was no going back, no room to change your mind.

Which is why I was having tea with Mrs. Malfoy, Mrs. Flint, Mrs. Rowle, my sister in law April and two other older witches whose names I couldn’t care to remember instead of a proper engagement ball. It was dreadful, but father had insisted I attend. After all, being thrown a tea party by Narcissa Malfoy was an honour we couldn’t afford to shun.

The older women talked about venues and napkins, tea cups and flowers (apparently sunflowers are a sign of a shallow attachment. I’d have to remember that). April kept quiet, and that more than anything else made me uneasy. I tried drinking some more tea, but my throat was closed. I hadn’t exactly told William nor Armand about the whole Flint debacle. I was afraid that if I admitted it to them, then the whole nightmare would become real and I couldn’t deal with that.

April’s face had been absolutely hilarious when Mrs. Rowle divulged the news. There will be hell to pay for that later, once William found out too. If April didn’t skin me alive first; I glanced over at her, her back perfectly straight despite the growing bulge in her belly. Her blond hair was clipped elegantly away from her face, leaving no doubt that she wasn’t happy with me at the moment.

“And of course, Brutus and I are hoping for grandchildren soon,” Hestia Flint said, throwing me a warm smile over her porcelain cup. I had to strain to cover my grimace.

“Actually,” I said putting my untouched, cold tea back down on the coffee table. “I was thinking of delaying children for a couple of years. I was hoping of getting a position working for the Prophet for a little while, like my aunt and sister-in-law both did,” I said, throwing April a pointed look. She returned it in earnest, taking a ferocious bite out of her biscuit and covering her stomach with her free hand.

Mrs. Flint looked like I had slapped her in the face, and the other two witches were staring at me as if I had sprouted horns on my head. Mrs. Malfoy chuckled lightly, “Things had changed since we were in her shoes, Filemina, Leonore,” she said looking at the two stupefied witches pointedly. They hurried to hide their disagreement with fake smiles and nods. “Although it is still rather unorthodox for woman of our position to work when it is not needed. Have you spoken to your betrothed about your wishes, Elizabeth?”

“We haven’t had much time to speak at all, we’ve both been so busy,” and we have been avoided each other like dragonpox.

“What do you think about all of this, April? You’ve been so quiet.” April glanced at Mrs. Malfoy before sighing, her hand still resting on her belly.

“I think this whole situation is rather silly,” she said, “Elizabeth hasn’t even left Hogwarts yet, and already she has to plan a marriage and children?” Leonore, Filamina and Hestia looked like chickens whose feathers had been ruffled. They hurried to contradict April, and explain why it is essential that pureblood women be married off to the highest bidder.

My sister-in-law argued cordially against it, and I was done listening to them all discuss my life.

“If you’ll excuse me, I need to visit the ladies room,” I said with a smile plastered on my face, raising off my chair and dusting off my dress. I was out of the room before any of them could say a word against it.

Malfoy Manor was not a place I was too familiar with, and it took me a few minutes to find my way back to the entrance hall, where my coat and the floo were. A house elf was beside me in an instant. “Is missus lost? Wonky can help missus find her way-”

“I need my coat and some floo powder,” I said, interrupting the elf. “I am afraid I must leave,” I looked at the grandfather clock on the corner of the room. It was two thirty; I had only been here for an hour and I half but I couldn’t keep it up. I needed out. The women’s shrilly laughs were pounding on the walls, despite being several rooms away.

Wonky hurried over to open the closet where our coats had been stored upon entering, and began searching for mine. I tapped my foot on the floor, waiting. I had only just put on one sleeve over my dress when someone tapped me in the back. Jumping, I noticed Narcissa Malfoy, standing in all her expender, a knowing smile adorning her face. “Leaving us so soon, Elizabeth?”

My eye twitched. “I didn’t mean to be rude, Mrs. Malfoy but-”

“Call me Narcissa,” she said with a wave of her hand.

“Narcissa, but unfortunately I have somewhere else I need to be.”

She arched an eyebrow. “Somewhere more important than the delightful tea party I have assembled for you? Your father would be most disappointed, Elizabeth.”

Tell me about it. “I-”

“How about you join me in the parlour for a chat? It’ll be a short one, I promise. I wouldn’t want to keep you from your engagement,” Narcissa walked towards the small, adjacent room without waiting for an answer. It was dimly illuminated, the heavy purple curtains keeping most of the winter afternoon light out and only a few scattered candles were lit. Narcissa waved at me from a regal looking sofa and, begrudgingly, I sat down next to her, careful to cross my ankles and tuck my legs away.

“So, tell me, what is his name?”

I stared at Mrs. Malfoy looking as confused as I felt. “I beg your pardon?”

Narcissa stifled a chuckle and waved her hand dismissively, before leaning in. “Unlike most of the other women in that room, I am not an idiot, Elizabeth. Now tell me, what is his name?”

Oliver. I mentally slapped myself. Where the hell did that come from? “It’s not like that.”

“Of course it isn’t,” she said, reclining herself against the sofa, her tone implying she didn’t believe me. “He must be quite the charmer, if you are leaving such high society to meet,” another round of laughs interrupted her. “Then again, you can’t call a bunch of hens good company can you now?” She gave me a fleeting smile before walking towards the nearest window. She pushed a curtain to the side, cold light illuminating her face and making her golden hair gleam.

Mrs. Malfoy was the image of pureblood perfection: pristine, elegant, and in command. I glanced over at my coat, it was hanging wide open and at an odd angle; I could feel my feet beginning to give under the pressure of the four inch stilettos and my hair was pulling my head down as it weaseled its way out of the complicated bun that took hours to do.

“Are you sure this is what you want, Elizabeth?” said Mrs. Malfoy, her perfectly manicured hand gesturing obnoxiously to the riches around her. “Are you sure this is what would make you happy? Money, prestige, high society? Because frankly, I have a feeling you are not impressed by it.”

I was taken aback at her directness; it was most refreshing. “Yes, of course. What else could I want?” I recited, hoping to sound convincing.

“If belonging to this circle is what truly matter the most, then you wouldn’t have a previous engagement, now would you?” she said, narrowing her eyes at me and immobilizing me on the spot. She walked back towards the sofa, her heels clicking against the floor. “It seems to me, Elizabeth, that this is not your dream.”

“To marry a pureblood man and to continue our noble race is what I was raised to do, Mrs. Malfoy.”

“But your heart isn’t in it,” she said, carefully arranging her robes and dress around her as she sat down.

“Since when does the heart matter into these things?”

“Silly girl, it is what matters the most,” she grabbed my hands and held them in her lap; her icy blue eyes piercing mine. I shifted uncomfortably on the overly puffy sofa trying to mimic her perfectly straight back. “Let me tell you a story. Once upon a time there was a girl who came from a very, very powerful and old wizard family. She was raised, like you, to fulfil her duty and bring pureblood heirs to the world. Now, this girl was vivacious; she had charm and she had brains, and she loved her family very much,” a flash of pain crossed her otherwise calm visage for such a brief moment that I thought I must have imagined it. “Now this girl fell in love and it was the best thing she ever experienced –she wanted nothing else but to be with that man. But her family opposed her, can you imagine why?”

“He was muggle born.”

She nodded, and kept her gaze down. Her golden hair covered her chiselled features so her eyes were hidden from view. “She had to choose between her duty and her love and she chose love,” she said almost too quickly, as if the words burned in her tongue. “She abandoned her family and her sisters and went off with that good-for-nothing mudblood.

“Her sisters never spoke to her again but by chance, one of them saw her. She was at St. Mungo’s, and you know what Elizabeth?”

“What?” I said, noticing I was leaning in, desperate to know more. Narcissa lifted her face, her cheeks were flushed with the tinniest hint of pink, lone tears marred her beautiful eyes.

“She looked happy,” she said, wiping her eyes with a handkerchief. “With a mudblood, she was _happy_. The sister could not believe it, but there it was! She had a baby girl in her arms and the biggest, most genuine smile she had ever seen on her sister’s face.”

When she had finished daintily dabbing at her eyes, she put the handkerchief down and squeezed my hands harder “Do you know what distinguishes Slytherin’s from the other three houses, Elizabeth?”

“Our ambition and cunning?”

“No,” she said. “It is our selfishness and solitude. Our ambition, Elizabeth, is to achieve what everyone else desires: happiness. But, unlike the other houses, we search for our own. Why was my sister happy with that bloody mudblood?”

“Because she loved him.”

“Yes, she did. Although I’ll never forgive nor condone her behaviour, I have at last come to understand it,” she said as she fingered the diamond ring on her left hand, a melancholic smile adorning her strawberry lips. “Happiness is a very selfish endeavour, Elizabeth. The only person you are ever going to truly spend the rest of your life with is yourself. So make your choices carefully, least you come to regret them.”

“But what if my decision is already done, and it is the wrong one?” my voice shook despite my desire for it not too. My hands, back in my lap, were clenched tightly into fists and I could feel my bun come completely undone.

“When there is a will, there will always be a way. You’ll do well to remember that.”


	16. Inconspicuous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “That proves nothing.”
> 
> “I see you didn’t correct me about the romantic rendezvous,” Gwen said with a coy smile.
> 
> Damn Ravenclaws.

“Good to see you again, son,” Cecile Wood said as he patted Oliver on the back. Oliver smiled, taking in the cold air on the platform. It was good to be home.

“Ollie! I’ve missed you so much,” Grace Wood hugged her son hard enough to stop his breathing “Oh, you’ve got to tell me everything that’s happened this semester. We have so much to catch up on, you’ve barely written to me, Ollie!” Oliver could feel my cheeks getting hotter.

“I was busy with Quidditch mum,” He said, patting her on the back and hoping she’d stop using that stupid nickname. “But I thought of you every day,” he finished with a swift kiss on the top of her head. He heard his dad snicker from behind.

“C’mon Grace, Oliver can barely breathe,” Oliver threw his dad a ‘thank you’ glance as his mum released him, murmuring things about missing her little boy. Oliver shook his head; he loved his mother with all his heart, but she was a walking embarrassment.

“So, how’s your girlfriend, dear?” she asked the moment they apparated into the kitchen. “Abigail was it?” she inquired cheerfully as she began preparing tea. His dad rolled his eyes, and sat down on the kitchen table. Oliver followed his lead, hoping she’d get the hint and forget her question.

Of course, he knew his own mother better than that. “Well, aren’t you going to tell me?”

Oliver was sure you could fry an egg on his face right now. “Grace,” his dad intervened, saving him. “The boy doesn’t want to talk about it. Stop pestering. Now Oliver, about Puddlemere…”

“I am _not_ pestering, Cecile,” his mum retaliated, wooden spoon hitting her husband’s head. “I am simply acting like any caring mother would.”

“It’s alright dad,” Oliver said before they got into an argument. Merlin knows they do that often enough. “We are not together anymore, mum. And yes, her name was Abigail.”

He watched her mum narrow her eyes and bite her cheek, the way she always did when she was thinking hard. “Well, that’s too bad. If you ask me, however, she was not right for you,” she began. “You need a woman who will take good care of you. If she let you go, she wasn’t good enough.”

“Of course, mum.”

She stared at him for a moment, before waving her wand and getting the food to cook itself. She interrupted her husband’s attempt at a Quidditch conversation and approached her son to squeeze his cheeks. “I am so glad you are here, Ollie,” she said with the biggest smile, never letting go. Oliver grunted. “I don’t like the food at Hogwarts. It’s like they are not feeding you properly! You’re only bones and skin!”

He heard his dad chuckled, and was disappointed when he didn’t interfere. Oliver exchanged a knowing glance with him and both had to hide their chuckles. Grace Wood was a very special case, thankfully unique

* * *

 

 “Oliver, my boy! It is nice to see you again!”

“Nice to see you too, Mr. Cauldwell ,” Oliver greeted the older redheaded man who was smiling broadly at everyone in sight. Mr. Cauldwell and Oliver’s father worked together in the Department of Magical Games and Sports.

“Mr. Caldwell, psht. You make me feel old, my son!” he laughed, slapped Oliver in the back and made him spill his drink on his new dress robes. Mr. Cauldwell shouted a greeting at someone else while Oliver cleaned his robes. He rolled his eyes when he spotted the half dozen empty glasses. He was about to walk away when Mr. Cauldwell yanked his arm and made him spill some more alcohol on his shoes. At this rate, his mum was going to have a right fit. Thankfully, she seemed too engaged speaking with Mrs. Cauldwell to notice.

“Oliver, you remember my daughter Briana don’t you? The old days, you used to play together when you were say what… eight?”

“Three,” Mrs. Cauldwell corrected him, not losing a bit of her chat with Oliver’s mum. “It was before we moved back to Ireland, sweetheart.”

Oliver chuckled at Mr. Caudwell’s bewildered expression. He probably didn’t even remember a time period where he lived out of Ireland. Briana too was laughing at her father’s antics. She was the best chaser Hufflepuff house had, and Oliver had been dismayed when he found out Diggory had beat her to the captainship, but she hadn’t seemed to mind.

“How would you rate Gryffindor’s chances of winning the cup this year, Oliver?” she said while playing with her champagne glass, and tucking a bright red curl behind her ear, “I mean after such a horrible defeat against Hufflepuff…”

Oliver crooked my head to the side, and tried not to set her jaw too hard. “You were lucky that day, Briana, and you know it.”

“I remember winning, even if the conditions were awful.”

Oliver opened his mouth to carefully, without losing his temper, explain to her why she was lucky she didn’t fall off her broom that day when someone tugged at his arm. He spilled the rest of his drink on the floor.

“What the bloody-“

But he could not go on. Sarah, dressed in a dark blue dress that made her eyes sparkle, was staring back at him. Or rather, behind him. “Good evening Mr. and Mrs. Wood,” she heard her speak, but his brain was having a hard time processing. “Mind if I steal Oliver for a dance?”

Without waiting, she began dragging him to the dance floor. Oliver turned around to try tried to apologize to Briana for the brute interruption, and you know, not to look like a complete wanker but Sarah wasn’t the kind of girl you could easily ignore. She placed his left hand on her lower back while gripping his right hand on hers. Oliver was beyond confused to react much beyond, “Are you feeling sick?” which earned him a painful kick to his shins.

Sarah huffed.

“What is this all about?” she ignored him, which didn’t surprise him. She was looking somewhere off over his shoulder, her brows furrowed. Oliver bit the inside of his cheek, and concentrated hard on making sure his fingers did not touch more bare skin than absolutely needed. Why witches insisted on wearing a backless gown in the middle of sodding December was beyond him.  
“Since when do I need a motive to ask a bloke for a dance at a _ball_?” her voice dripped with sarcasm.

A million reasons crossed Oliver’s mind with the force of an erupting volcano.

Because you are a Slytherin.

Because you always have a motive.

Because, perhaps, at last, you’ve realized that you fancy me.

 That last one surprised him.

“That is one path we are not going to go into,” Oliver thought before resuming his mental list of reasons, finally settling for: “Because last time we danced together, your father took you away screaming bloody murder.”

She shrugged.  “Wouldn’t put it past him this time either.”

 “That’s encouraging.”  Furtively, and as they turned, Oliver scanned the room finding his target at the exact spot where Sarah’s eyes had been fixated a moment ago. Mr. Montieth was tucked away in a corner, a half-emptied glass of firewhiskey dangling precariously on his hand. An old wizard with a crooked purple hat was talking to him quite animatedly, but Mr. Montieth did not seem to notice - or care. With a sick feeling, Oliver realized that Antonious Montieth’s attention was focused on his youngest (and only) daughter - who was wearing a dress that made Lucifer look like a bleeding saint and dancing a slow song, with him.

Fanstastic.

A twitch in his dance partner’s body shifted his attention back to her. Her blue eyes met his and for a moment there, he did not hear a single word she said. The spell was broken when she hit him in the back of the head.

“Why did you do that for?” he asked, rubbing the sore spot on his scalp.

She rolled her eyes, “I was talking; you weren’t listening.”

“Well, if your royal highness would forgive a low fellow such as myself, perhaps she would humour me with her beautiful voice and oh-so-brilliant insights?”

She gave him an expression which reminded him quite accurately of an exasperated duck, pout and all.

Oliver had to bite his tongue to keep from laughing. “Come on now, what’s got your knickers in a twist today? Your hair looks fine, so it can’t be the humidity.”

Sarah glanced at him, and for the briefest of seconds he thought he glimpsed fear in her eyes. But her eyes showed nothing but annoyance and perhaps, well hidden, a little contempt. His curiosity was now picked. “Want to talk about it?” he asked in what he hoped was a concerned and caring matter, and not at all like a curious cat.

Sarah’s lower lip pouted even more, before she passed her tongue through her lips and bit them. All of this activity took place in record time of three and a half seconds, but it was enough to make Oliver fixate on her with something other than innocent curiosity.

Damn hormones, he thought before mentally kicking himself in his still-sore spot on the back of his head.

“I can’t speak here,” she said looking sidewise. “Meet me by the back hallway, the one that leads back to the atrium.  And try to be discreet, even if that isn’t exactly your forte,” she dumped her hold of his hand and disentangled herself from his embrace quicker than he could catch a Quaffle.

Oliver was left in the middle of the dance floor, wondering vaguely why some people were staring. It then dawned on him that the song had ended, and couples were dancing quite rapidly around him. He made it a point to make himself scarce, and rushed towards the refreshment table.

He tried to ignore the tingling in his hands.

He picked up a bottle of butterbeer, pushed the cap against the table and smiled when he heard the satisfying ‘psst’ noise of it popping open. He took a long gulp, the cold, creamy liquid quickly coming down the wrong pipe, causing him to choke, spit and cough. Oliver turned around and leaned against the table, the perfect picture of composure. He took another sip from his drink, cautiously this time, trying not to choke –

“Wotcher Oliver!”

-on it.

For the second time in thirty seconds, Oliver Wood was certain he was about to die. Without ever winning the Quidditch cup for Gryffindor as captain, no less.

“Hello Gwen,” he managed to croak after receiving several odd glances from passers-by, and a few claps on his back from the girl in question.

“Did anyone ever tell you that subtleness really isn’t your strongest suit?” she asked nonchalantly, grabbing a piece of cheese from a nearby cheese tray.

“What do you mean?”

Gwen stifled a chortle and mimicked his position against the table; she grabbed a handful of blond curls and threw them backwards so that the ends of them dangled half an inch over the humus. Oliver decided it would be best not to tell her.

“If you think my dear uncle or anybody else at this dreadful place doesn’t know that you and Lisa are planning some sort of romantic rendezvous somewhere private, then you are daft.”  
Oliver’s eyes darted towards the secluded corner where he had last seen Mr. Montieth. It was empty. Gwen poked him in the stomach and pointed towards the other side of the room with her head.

Mr. Monteith was deep in conversation with his youngest son. They were hunched over, their heads almost banging together. It seemed like Nicholas was getting angry with his father who was losing some kind of argument. Oliver quickly returned his gaze to Gwendolyn when he thought that Nicholas was about to look in his general direction. 

“That proves nothing.”

“I see you didn’t correct me about the romantic rendezvous,” Gwen said with a coy smile.

Damn Ravenclaws.

 Oliver was certain his head resembled a Quaffle. He took another sip of butterbeer, without choking for once, to camouflage his blush. “It’s nothing like that, and don’t give me, that look,” he added, pointing his bottle towards her for emphasis. “She said she needs to talk about something. Must be important if she doesn’t want to risk it here.”

“A hot snogging session? It would be about bloody time.”

He choked again.

“No, nothing like that Gwendolyn,” he really hoped the girl couldn’t hear the frantic beating of his heart. Times like this, he hated having a very visual mind.

Gwen shrugged but gave him a knowing smile. “She’s been on edge for a few days now, couldn’t even concentrate on helping me pick a new pair of shoes for this silly night,” she grabbed another piece of cheese and munched on it thoughtfully, biting the corner of her lip. “Perhaps talking to you would be better than talking to me. It will save her my wonderfully brilliant, and witty, remarks at least.”

“Why do you say that? And your remarks aren’t brilliant in the least.”

“Witty, yes?”

“I do concede on that.”

Gwen gave him a small grin over her shoulder before peeling herself off of the table. Doing something that resembled a small dance step, she twirled around to face him, a smug smirk on her lips, and her hands on her hips. “You happen to be a good listener. Go, I’ll distract the snakes,” she left him without letting him respond.

Shrugging, Oliver finished his drink without further accidents, and made his way towards the meeting place, trying to look inconspicuous but was widely aware that he was failing miserably.   
He found Sarah standing by one of the windows. To the untrained eye, she seemed the perfect picture of serenity; her hands were neatly folded on her lap, her back straight yet seemingly relaxed, and her gaze focused dreamily on the falling snow.

Under Oliver’s knowing glance, the wrinkles she was creating in her gown by picking at it were blatantly obvious; he could see the small but incessant twitch of her lower lip, and knew that her composed facial expression was the result of trying hard not to scowl. It was no surprise to him at all that she jumped like a cat that had been barked at when he poked her arm.

He smirked at her as her cheeks gave in and her lip curved downwards into a scowl. “Lovely weather we're having isn’t it?” he asked, leaning against the rough stone wall, and crossed his arms over his chest.

She held his mirthful gaze with a death glare of her own. “Maybe this was a bad idea,” she muttered under her breath, avoiding his glance.

“Why do you say that?” he asked throwing his head backwards. If this girl were a Quidditch team, he knew he’d had one hell of a time coming up with a good strategy.

“It’s just…” he looked down at her; she was glancing off the window, her face contorted into at least ten different emotions all at once. “I found some things and I’m – I’m not sure what to think of them.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Why don’t you try bouncing your thoughts off of me? Apparently, I’m a good listener,” he suggested. Sarah looked up and licked her lips, her tongue seeming to take all the time in the world to moisten the strawberry red flesh. His insides did a back flip.

“I found some old letters addressed to my mother,” she said, but Oliver caught only half of it. He shook his head, willing his attention to return to her words and not her cleavage. “Old love letters.”

“From you dad?” he asked with a snort.

Sarah winced, “No of course not. I doubt he even knew what the purpose of that would be,” he had to agree with that. “I don’t know who wrote them. He always signed his initials, E.B.”

“A secret affair then?”

“Most are dated before my parents’ marriage.”

“But not all.”

She bit down her lip, and nodded. “The last two are… intriguing,” she sighed and looked towards the window. He nudged her with her foot to keep her talking. “She was planning on leaving him.”

“To be with this E.B. bloke?”

“I have a feeling there is more to it than that.”

“Why?”

She shrugged. “I’m not sure.”

“So why does it bother you?” he asked, narrowing his eyes. Sarah looked at him, and then turned away.

“I want to know who this bloke was; I need to know the full story. But I can’t do it alone.”

“You want me to help, then?” he asked, she nodded. He exhaled and run a hand through his hair, stopping midway and remembering his mum had placed a vast amount of potion on it earlier that evening. He looked down at his hand and noticed it was full of a gooey transparent substance. “Urhg,” he tried cleaning it against his trousers, but only ended up spreading the thing on them.

Sarah rolled her eyes and grabbed his wrist. She flicked her want at his trousers (despite Oliver’s momentary horror) and then at his hand. “Never learned a proper cleaning spell in your life, have you?”

“What’s the point with my mum?” he retorted with a shrug. “She’d clean everything again even after I’m done.” Sarah rolled her eyes and let go of his wrist. He hadn’t noticed how warm her hands were until they were no longer there. Her cheeks were a bit flushed, and Oliver became aware of how quiet it was in this hallway, and how close they were standing.

“What was your mum’s maiden name?” she asked, throwing him off balance.

“Lubly.” Sarah’s eyes widened and he had the distinct impression that he had said something wrong. “Why?”

“You mum is mentioned in one of the letters,” she said a little too low for him to hear properly. “In fact, there were letters from her addressed to my mum,” her hands were shaking. Oliver reached forward and grabbed them in his. When she looked up, her eyes were tinged with red but no tears were rolling down her cheeks. “Oliver, I think my dad may have wanted to hurt my mum.”

“What makes you think that?” she shook her head but said nothing.

“Your mum wasn’t in Slytherin was she?”

“No, she is muggle-born. She was in Ravenclaw. I think she was a prefect,” he said. Her hands were still clasped in his, and he was surprised she hadn’t pried them off yet.

“So was my mum. A prefect, I mean.” She paused. “That’d explain how they met.” Oliver stared at her as she thought. She pulled her hands off of his to assess whether her hair was intact. “I need your help,” she said after a few minutes of silence. Her voice was small and it tore at him to watch her so distressed.

“What do you need?”

She avoided his eyes. “We need to find out what your mum knows. I think my aunt may be involved in this too.”

“I can ask her.” She slapped the back of his head. “If that’s how you say thanks, then remind me not to get in your black list.” Sarah threw thrown him a disbelieving look which told him, without much concern for his ego, just what she thought of his cunning and overall intelligence level.

“Forget it.”

Looking away, she tried to take a step backward but it looked as if an invisible giant hand were pushing her closer. She narrowed her eyes and looked behind her, but there was nothing there. She took another step backwards, and she was propelled close enough to him that their shoulders touched. “What the-?”

“I wouldn’t try that again if I were you,” someone said. Oliver and Sarah turned their heads to the side simultaneously. An older, well-dressed couple were walking by, arm in arm. The woman who had spoken had a gloved hand stifling her giggles. “There’s mistletoe above you; the more you try to get away, the closer it’ll bring you.” They looked up at the same time and sure enough, a single piece of dark green mistletoe was hanging there.

“Bugger,” he heard Sarah muster. He couldn’t quite bring himself to face her just yet. Magical mistletoe had a very peculiar set of characteristics: it would root a couple to the spot where it had landed, and wouldn’t let them go until they’ve satisfied it. And like the woman said, the more they tried, the more it would bring them closer. But apparently, Sarah wasn’t too eager to kiss him. “Reducto!”

Oliver ducked his head, grabbing her by the shoulders and pulling her towards him. The mistletoe had released a series of sparks, which singed his robes where they fell. “Haven’t you learned not to use that spell?”

“It was worth a shot,” he heard her mumble against his chest. Her head was tucked beneath his crossed arms, her hands holding him at the waist. Oliver didn’t breath for ten whole seconds and her lack of movement told him that she was in the same team.

Neither one moved. Oliver was strategizing. It’s just another Quidditch match, he thought, and you just need to catch the Quaffle – not that she _is_ a Quaffle or that he’d ever snog a Quaffle, Merlin that’d be weird… it was really all just a matter of keeping his head in the game and-

She moved.

It was slow, but he could feel her squirming her way out of the prison of his arms. Her hands were still pressed against his sides, and he could feel his breathing getting harder. Sarah was analysing him, that much he knew from the way she didn’t blink to the almost mechanical manner in which she bit the inside of her cheek.

Oliver could feel the fast but steady beat of his heart thumping in his ears as he lowered his lips closer to hers. His feet felt like they hadn’t received a steady supply of blood in years, and he was quite certain that if not by the binding spell, he’d have toppled over a long time ago. The moment his lips touched her, moistened as they were, he felt a jolt of electricity run through him.

It was more exhilarating than climbing onto a broom.

He felt her stiffen at his touch, and he was ready to retreat knowing that should’ve done it, but then her hands grabbed a hold of his robes and pinned him down. Her lips parted with a soft gasp, and Oliver felt fireworks inside of him. He placed his hands on the low of her back and pulled her closer, as his lips danced with hers. He was aware he wasn’t breathing properly, but his mind was too far gone to care. All he wanted was for this moment to never end.

“Elizabeth?” they both jumped far apart, putting as much distance as possible. His heart was fluttering to a mad rhythm, and he thought she looked lovely with her slightly swollen lips and flushed cheeks. Her blue eyes were opened wide.

“Bugger,” he heard her mutter before she run past him and back inside the ballroom.

* * *

 

The events of the night before kept replaying in his mind over a healthy breakfast of bacon and eggs. His family had arrived earlier that day, and would be staying over for New Years Eve. Oliver sighed. He hadn’t exactly promised to help Sarah, but he felt compelled to. She had done more than just pique his intrigue. The problem was, he wasn’t quite sure how he’d manage to trick his mum into speaking when there were so many people over.

Oliver twirled his scrambled eggs around the plate, mulling over strategies. It was just like a Quidditch game, he figured. He just needed to analyse the opponent team, find their strengths and weaknesses and then device a cohesive plan of action.

“Oliver dear,” his mum’s voice brought him back to reality. “I was telling Doug about our attic cleaning plan, remember?” he nodded, although he really didn’t remember. Her face lit up almost instantaneously. “Wonderful! I’m so happy you two are on board for this! I’ve been waiting _years_ until you were old enough to do it by magic!”

Oh, bugger.

Oliver shared a knowing look with his older cousin, Douglas, before resigning himself to an afternoon filled with old junk and generations of dust bunnies.

It would seem that plan help Sarah would have to wait.

A deep blush covered Oliver’s cheeks. He shook his head to push those very particular thoughts away; it would not do to revive his old crush. He had to focus on Quidditch, after all, and besides, pursuing Sarah could only lead to trouble. The memory of her soft lips on his would have to die a quick and painless death.

Three hours later, a lot of cleaning spells and five bottles of pixie disinfectant used, Oliver was ready to call it a day. Cleaning that attic was as exhausting as five consecutive Quidditch training sessions. Only the vague promise of torture and possibly death on the hands of his mum kept him cleaning the seemingly endless room.

As a child, Oliver had been scared of the attic – his room was just below it and the boards on the ceiling would creak at night. He used to think there were ghosts or banshees out there, but now he knew that all that noise was due to a rat infestation. He exhaled rather loudly. Doug was telling him something about how the women in Amsterdam, where he worked for Gringotts, were all crazy. Oliver wasn’t interested, he had enough problems with British birds as it was.

He closed the box he’d been organizing and levitated it so it was aligned with the other thirteen boxes he had already finished. He grabbed another box and tore it open, dumping the contents on the still dusty floor. He sat down cross-legged and began sorting through the newest pile of junk his mum had collected over the years.

With a frown, he realized he had stumbled upon an old pile of daily prophets. Oliver rolled his eyes as he began throwing them into a nearby garbage bn. That his mum was a packrat was no news to him, but even he thought she’d have more sense than to keep old _newspapers_ in badly sealed boxes. He had gone through three quarters of old, yellowed copies when his eyes caught something that made him do a double take. He held the old newspaper on a shaky hand and squinted his eyes to read, and then re-read, the headline several times

He felt all blood drain from his face as he looked at the picture of a much younger Antonious Montieth as he left the courts of the ministry. The article was dated February, 1982. The title read “Antonious Montieth, accused Death Eater, acquitted of the murder of Edgar Bones. “Not enough evidence”, the Wizengamont says.

He had found E.B.

* * *

 

Oliver looked around him uneasily. The tea he had ordered had long ago gone cold without him even trying it. A good-looking French-pastry mocked him from the plate just next to his cup. He glanced up at the cheaply made replica of the London tower and grimaced.

She was late.

Only three minutes late, but for someone who walked like they had their knickers in a constant twist, three minutes was plenty late. Oliver massaged his neck absentmindedly, and took a nervous bite out of his chocolate croissant not really tasting it. When the little bells on the door chimed, he practically jumped on his chair.  
Sarah stood by the door, seemingly taking a moment to search the half-full café before walking towards him. Her white trench coat was covered in snow, and he mused that it looked much too thin to be appropriate for the day’s weather. Her black hair was falling from what had once been an elaborate bun and her legs were bare from the knee down; her cheeks were flushed red and her eye makeup was a little skewed. Oliver thought she looked lovely. Then he mentally kicked himself.

She took the seat in front of him without removing her coat, folded her hands on the table in front of her and stared at him. He moved around his chair, trying to feel comfortable beneath her penetrating glare. A waitress came by to ask for her order, but the witch sent her away with a dismissive wave.

“I’ll have you know that I’ve just come from a very important tea party,” she said as if answering his unspoken question. “I think I may have to start drinking coffee; I’m starting to hate tea.”

He nodded, itching to ask her to elaborate but choosing his safety over satiating his curiosity. “Why meet me at a muggle café? Merlin knows I never thought you’d know where to find one in all of London.”

Sarah shrugged and carefully removed her jacked. She was wearing a peach coloured dress with a delicate plunge of the neckline that made Oliver want to jump from the Astronomy tower. “It’s safer to speak here than at the Leaky Cauldron. Besides,” she snapped his fingers in front of his eyes to bring his attention back to her face. “Armand and I used to come here often; he has a soft spot for muggle sweets and muggle waitresses.”

Oliver grinned.

“Now, what is it that you needed to tell me that couldn’t wait until we were back at Hogwarts?”

He dug into the pockets of his own, weather-appropriate jacket and passed the pile of collected newspapers and other assorted pieces of aged parchment over. She raised a perfectly groomed eyebrow and he nudged them forward.

His eyes darted towards the ceiling, his mind replaying the tsunami of information he had gathered yesterday. After he found the first paper he found others, thorough accounts of the trial, what the defence said and what evidence against the accused there was. Sarah’s father had gotten off on a mere detail: his wand had produced an unforgivable curse –but the traces of the magic were confusing. What was worse, Edgar Bones hadn’t been the only victim: his wife and two of his daughters had also been killed. And their bodies were mutilated to the point in which the Winzengamont was given no other option but to admit that they hadn’t been murdered by the killing curse. And Sarah’s father’s wand had never produced any torture spell – just one killing curse whose recipient or sender was unknown. The dark mark had hung ominously like a glowing gravestone on their house for hours before they were found.

No one believed the defence but in the light of incomplete evidence, Antonious Montieth had been acquitted, paid a hefty fine and had his wand confiscated for three months following trial.

Oliver thought it was rubbish. The prosecutors didn’t need any more evidence- what they needed was a motive. And he had found the motive- and he wasn’t the only one. What puzzled him was why hadn’t his mum come forward knowing as he did the reasons behind the murder?

“He was accused of torturing my mother?” Sarah whispered. Oliver’s head shot back down; she was holding a piece of parchment with trembling hands, a look of utter disgust plastered on her face as if she were holding a dead squirrel in her hands.

“They also didn’t have-”

“-a motive, yes. I read that. No motive, shaky evidence and a fantastic alibi. Merlin, this is mental.”

He could only nod. Mental wasn’t sufficient to describe the situation. “We know of a motive though. And the two people who testified for his alibi ended up in Azkaban a few weeks later, convicted of Death Eater crimes.” She shot him a questioning look. “One of them was killed by Alastor Moody; I checked.”

Sarah dropped the old paper on the table and buried her head on her arms. Oliver had to fight the urge to go over and hug her.

“This is much worse than I’d thought,” she mumbled. “At first I thought it was an affair, that she just fell for another bloke but…” When she looked up, her eyes were bloodshot. “Oliver, if this is true, then my father is a murderer.”

He offered her a small smile. “If it is true, he is a Death Eater.”

* * *

 

“You can’t move a horse that way, Doug,” Oliver said for the fiftieth time as he personally moved the horse back to its initial position.

Douglas cursed under his breath and scratched his chin. It was New Year’s Eve and all of Oliver’s family was sitting around the fireplace. They had eaten, they had drunk, they had sung old Scottish songs, Doug had set his sister’s hair on fire, and they had continued drinking.

The Grandfather clock chimed one o’clock, the first hour of the New Year had sped by. His mum was talking to Aunt Euphemia while showing off her new tea set. His dad was talking to his brother, Uncle Daniel. Aunt Euphemia kept looking at her husband and frowning.  Oliver laughed internally, those two were like a teenage couple fighting at every opportunity, and then making up. He had caught them having make up sex in his parent’s room three years ago. Grandpa Wood was talking Doug’s sister Rosslyn while Grandma Wood knitted. They were all too tired and had had too many scotches for continued abrasive activity.

“There,” Doug’s voice brought me back to the present game.

“ _That_ ,” he said remembering why he never played chess with Doug, “is not a proper move for a horse.”

“Bugger.”

He checkmated his cousin as quickly as he could, which all in all took longer than it should have when a loud cracking noise interrupted their merry evening. Everyone sat up and tensed

It was one of those noises that cannot be confused: someone had apparated into the house.


	17. Second chances

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I don’t get what Darlene is so excited about,” I muttered so only Willow would hear. “It’s not like McNair is anything worth bragging about. And that ring? Ghastly, although I think her fingers seem to highlight the ugliness stone, don’t you think?” Willow snickered into her drink, before finishing it off and motioning to the waiter for a refill.
> 
> I sighed, and went back to pick the crystal on my sadly empty glass. This night was turning out to be a disaster.

## 

“And then… he proposed!” Darlene screeched, doing a little jump and thrusting her bejewelled hand in everyone’s faces, almost poking Mrs Rowle’s eye out. The witches around me, some younger, some too old for all this nonsense, gasped at the suspenseful story and then squealed like pigs hit with a cheering charm at the happy ending.

I picked the olive in my drink forcefully before shoving it into my mouth and chewing. Beside me, Willow was the only other person in the vicinity who was not acting like an overexcited three year old. But that was normal; I’m a shrew and she is much too quiet. I spit out the pit conspicuously back into my glass, and threw my silent companion a weary look. Willow already had five drinks in her, which was definitely an anomaly on the person who usually was in charge of playing mother hen to the rest of us. If I had any shred of accurate empathy in me, I’d say she was upset about something.

“I don’t get what Darlene is so excited about,” I muttered so only Willow would hear. “It’s not like McNair is anything worth bragging about. And that ring? Ghastly, although I think her fingers seem to highlight the ugliness stone, don’t you think?” Willow snickered into her drink, before finishing it off and motioning to the waiter for a refill.

I sighed, and went back to pick the crystal on my sadly empty glass. This night was turning out to be a disaster.

“Why so quiet, Montieth, missing your beau?” Darlene’s voice whispered in my ear, making me tense for the briefest of seconds. I glared in her direction, noticing for the first time that we were alone.

I shrugged, “Where is your posse? Have your followers grown tired of hearing about your happiness?”

A nasty smile spread through Darlene’s cherry red lips. “Jealousy suits you, Elizabeth. For once I have it all – and you are left with leftovers. How does it feel to come in second?”

“Second, to you?” I snorted, exchanging my empty glass for a new one from a wandering house elf, “I’m sorry to rip through your well-constructed web of delusions, but by no means did I ever fancy Ted McNair.”

Darlene waved her hand contemptuously in front of my face. “I wasn’t talking about Ted. But a little owl tells me you, unlike me, are rather unhappy with your Romeo.”

More like Edmund without the charm, I thought. “I don’t know what you are talking about, Darlene. It seems to me that all that alcohol has gotten to your pretty blond head, maybe you should go lay down,” I hurried off before she could speak another poison-filled word. The ever-dreaded cold shiver was running down my back as my heels tapped hurriedly against the marble floor. Did Darlene know? _How much_ did she know? And more importantly, _how_ did she find out?

“Flint, a word if you please,” I said, tapping his shoulder and pulling him away from the group of older gentleman he was attempting to vow with his brute wit. I heard him try to apologize for his rudeness as I pushed him towards the door.

“Wait a second,” he said, stopping on his tracks, and making me bounce off of him. Thanks gravity, you are a real friend. I twirled around and positioned my stare into his face, standing in front of him, akimbo. I expected him to belittle me or attempt to. Instead, he surprised me by grabbing my hand, “Would you do me the honour to dance with me?”

I choked. “Are you kidding me?” I replied through clenched teeth, suddenly aware that we were awfully close to the dance floor, and several other people were looking at us with knowing smirks. Bugger. Without waiting for my reply, he took my drink from my hand and left it on a nearby coffee table that already sprouted several empty glasses,

“I was drinking that!” I said indignantly as Flint led me towards the dance floor, and wrapped one arm around my waist clumsily, while his other hand held mine with a slight tremor. Begrudgingly, I placed my free hand on his shoulder, and we began to move to the tempo. Neither one of us spoke for the first song, as our feet battled to lead and our minds tried to adjust to the uncomfortable situation of being in each other’s personal space.

“Did you tell Darlene about you-know-what?” I asked three-quarters through the song. Flint stared at me oddly before shaking his head. A wave of relief flooded over me; Darlene had been bluffing.

“You specifically made sure that we cannot disclose the enga-”I pinched his shoulder to make him shut up; he sneered before continuing. “Disclose you-know what,” he said with an unneeded eye roll. “Until we left Hogwarts. Those were your terms, remember?”

Of course I remembered. In a moment of pure cunning genius, I had cited both parties back to the manor and insisted that such a condition be added to the arrangement. “I would still like to know why.”

Oh yes. Neither male Flint had been too keen on my little extra, but Mrs. Flint had been understanding enough and coaxed her husband into agreeing. Salazar bless the woman. “I have my reasons.”  
Flint eyed me curiously. “You do know I could make your life hell is you are found to be fraternizing with another man, don’t you?”  
“All too well, thank you.”

“Elizabeth,” he said, leaning in and making me recoil “Will you grow up? You will have to call me by my name come June; we might as well get used to,” he finished, with the faintest tone of resignation. “Would you rather I call you _Sarah?_ ”

I felt a pang somewhere in my chest that I couldn’t explain and didn’t feel comfortable exploring. “I’d rather call you Edmund,” I said, biting the right corner of my lip before remembering it would mess up my lipstick.

“What?”  
“King Lear, don’t fret over it, you’ve never read it,” I replied, remembering that it had been Darlene’s reference to Romeo that led up to that very accurate nickname. Who knew Darlene read ancient Muggle literature?

Flint interrupted my thoughts on how to make Darlene pay for knowing Shakespeare. “In any case, I reckon now would be a good time as any to clarify some things,” I made a motion with my head to let him know I was listening, while my eyes dances around the place before settling on the evening’s hosts.

Mrs. Malfoy was laughing quietly at something her husband had said, her hand delicately draped over his bend arm; her fingers were drawing small circles over the fabric of his robe. Sometimes, Mr. Malfoy would quietly snap her hand, and her fingers would lay still for a few moments before returning to their little circles.

The oddest thought came to my mind at that moment: she was purposely _tickling_ her husband while he tried to keep his guests entertained. All the while this secret intimate gesture was happening, Narcissa never missed a beat and no one suspected anything from the perfect host and hostess.

I was dumbfounded enough that my jaw hit Flint’s shoulders as it opened. The rational part of my brain that hadn’t just been confounded dully reminded me of my conversation with Mrs. Malfoy during her tea party.

They were in love.

She had married not just because it was expected, but because she _wanted_. Had it always been like that, I wondered, or did they fall for each other somewhere along the way?

The music switched again, to a slow dance, and neither Flint nor I let go. I believe he was still talking, but my mind had wandered off again. Is this what my life was going to be like? Dances, tea parties, and more fake smiles than I cared to count?

And my children, for the whole purpose of marriage was twofold: to ensure the female didn’t dishonour her family and to produce true-blooded heirs. Would my children be as unhappy as we have been? Could I teach them to laugh to soundless music and dance to a senseless tune?

I could see them perfectly in the eye of my mind.

A son, more interested in collecting bugs than studying etiquette who’d grow up to be resentful, and far too deep into the “noble cause” to learn to think for himself.

A daughter who had pretty little dimples whenever she smiled, but that hours of learning calligraphy and being told to sit straight had erased any muscle memory.

A large, handsome manor, with flowers blooming without colour, exquisite decorations that always looked like they had never been touched, furniture that had never been used; a house that had never held life.

I held back a choking sob as my mind ripped to pieces, each fragile bit flying like ashes in the cold winter wind.

If my life was worth anything, as a pureblood, as a witch, as a person, then why was I am condemning it to an early death? Worse yet, why was I continuing to commit everyone’s mistakes? Weren’t stupidity and lack of thought, ultimately, the worst sins?

“What the hell are you staring at, Montieth?”  
I smiled at the return of the last name. “I was just picturing what our kids could look like. I sure hope they inherit my eyes, lifeless brown is not necessarily an inviting choice.”

He looked sidewise, his face green, his jaw clenched. “That is a very sick thought, Montieth.”

I squeezed his hand hard to bring his attention back to me. Reluctantly, he faced me again. “How so? You do have to admit, my eyes are much prettier than yours.”

“Not that,” he said, his lips curling into a sneer, or perhaps a grimace. “The idea of us having kids, it’s disgusting.”

I let out a bitter chortled. “Why do you think we are in the position we are in, Flint, because we happen to look good together?”

He didn’t answer, but continued dancing as the song ended and another began. I was no longer staring at him, but at the couples dancing around us. A blur of colour and motion, laughter and whispers. I tried picturing myself with Flint, a few years from now. Our eldest son eleven just sorted into Slytherin, of course. Coarse black hair, and shinning blue eyes; he had a smirk that could break any girl’s heart, and indeed lived up to that sad expectation.

And our daughter, why she was gorgeous. Against my better judgment she inherited her father’s brown eyes, but they were alive with mischievousness. But her cleverness would be overridden by the endless lectures, the pointless beliefs and the life-crushing duties that offered no reward to any party.

And us?

My role in this play would be nonexistent; on days in which I would not be required to make a social appearance, I would lock myself up in a nearby room, and consume the day in reading of all kinds of books, a last reminder of my youth breaking apart in my hands like old pieces of parchment.

Neither one of us would be surprised if our son became a Death Eater. We wouldn’t even know if our daughter enjoyed Quidditch.

We wouldn’t care.

The song finished, and another began. It seemed livelier than the previous one, but I couldn’t escape the eerie laughs of children, which, in another home with another family, could have been happy.

I could have been happy.

“We can’t do this,” I muttered as much to him as to myself, the determination in my voice surprising me. Flint’s eyes settled on my face with a confused look and I am sure that he asked me a question. But my body was shaking, my throat was dry and my mind was clear. “We can’t; I can’t marry you,” I whispered, detaching myself from his as if he were a gigantic slug. If people were staring, I wasn’t aware. All I knew was that I was suffocating, and I needed to escape.

I bolted for the door before Flint could even call out my name.

He caught up with me in the entrance hall, where I had already ordered a house elf to retrieve my coat immediately. The grandfather clock said it would be a new year in seven minutes.

“Elizabeth, wait,” Flint looked almost heartbroken, confused, scared. “What is wrong with you?” his eyes were opened wide, no longer frowning, but, if you’ll believe me, worried. “Snap out of it, you big twit.”

Ah, there is the Flint I know and learned to loathe.

“Can’t you see?” I asked my voice shriller than usual. “It is the worst mistake we can make Flint! It is not worth it.” My eyes urged him to see the truth in my words, to see beyond the frilly fabrics and glorified liquid in our veins, and to understand the folly of it all.

“What are you talking about?”

I opened my mouth to reply, but closed it again, before reopening in a magnificent imitation of a fish out of water. How could he not see? It was so obvious! If our lives, our blood, means too much, if we are so much better than everyone else, why dedicate ourselves to a life of misery and mediocrity? “It’s stupid, stupid, stupid,” I repeated, my hands rising to clutch my head. Flint gently grabbed my wrists and pushed them down. His face looked not like his usual face; he looked older and un-Flint-like. Merlin forbid, he looked positively mature.

Tears were crowded in the corners of my eyes as Flint pushed my fringe away from my eyes. “You are mental; either that or you’ve had too much to drink. C’mon, you need to lay down for a bit,” he let go of my hands and grabbed my upper arm, but I slapped his hand away.

“I’m not drunk, Marcus,” he stopped moving when he heard my name. “I’m serious. We cannot get married, it’d be the worst mistake we could make- and you know it.”

“Bollocks. You had too much to drink, now, if you’d follow me-”

“No, I don’t think I will. I am seeing clearer than I have in a long time, and I am not drunk, dammit,” I stomped my foot on the floor just for good measure

“Then the hamster wheels have finally snapped,” he squealed, his voice rising with each word. “What are you thinking, you can’t marry me? You’ll ruin _everything_!” he finished with some very strange body gestures.

I stared at him, my arm cradled against my chest. “No, Marcus. I am not crazy, and you feel like I do. Neither of us wants this; we can barely be in the same room for more than five minutes without bickering. Can you imagine living your life next to someone you despise?”

He slapped his hand against his forehead. “What do you want, Elizabeth? I don’t get you. You could have refused me the other day if you thought me so repugnant. Magical law doesn’t allow forced marriages – you had your say.”

“And I made the wrong call. I don’t want to marry you Marcus, just like _you_ can’t stand the thought of marrying _me_.”

He brushed his hand over his head, yanking at a few pieces of coal black hair. Loosening his bow-tie, he held my gaze. There was sweat trickling down his forehead. He knew I was right.

I knew I was right (for once).

 “I tell you something,” he began slowly, as if talking to a frenzied beast. “Marry me, give me one child-we’ll make sure it is a boy, and then you can do whatever you want. You’ll have a nanny, so you don’t need to care for the kid. And you can invite as many men to your bed as you want – as long as you appear as my faithful wife in social settings.”

I shook my head sadly, grabbing the coat the house elf offered. “That is a very sick thought, Marcus, not to mention unfair.”

“Unfair?” he said, his voice echoing in the empty room. “Don’t you dare talk to me about unfair, Elizabeth, you have no idea what I had to give up to ensure that-”

“What _you_ had to give up?” I shrieked, one arm inside my coat the other one pointing an accusing finger at his chest. “You are not the only one losing someone here, Marcus!”

That silenced us. My  heart was beating in my ears hard enough that I thought I was going to combust. Just who was I losing? For a moment we stood there, as the clock chimed midnight, both of us breathing heavily and silent, as shouts of glee erupted in the adjacent room.

“We need to break this marriage,” I whispered, leaning into him as he pushed back. His head hung low, his hands were hidden in the pockets of his robe, and when he spoke, he sounded completely un-Flint-like.

“You’ll ruin everything….”

I took a step forward to cup his cheek briefly as I shrugged my other arm into my coat. “No Marcus, I’m giving us the chance we never had.” A small smile appeared on my lips. “Don’t worry, I’ll take the blame,” I walked away from him towards the imposing fireplace, and grabbed a handful of floo powder from the gold and silver pot. My feet were already in the fire when I heard him yell out.

“And pray tell, what will you do with that _chance_?”

 


	18. Confused

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Please don’t,” I blurted out, “I don’t want to impose more than I’ve already done.”
> 
> She waved a hand at me as if I had said the silliest thing in the world. “It is no problem at all. Oliver can sleep in the sofa.”
> 
> “Thanks mum.”

## 

I had very little time to do this, and to do it right. Flint wouldn’t waste time in informing my father of what I was thinking. I had to pack only what I needed, and then be off. With a flick of my wand I opened my school trunk and began throwing books and quills and parchment and clothes inside. I made sure to pack my mother’s old version of Beedle’s takes.

But then, another problem resurfaced, primarily, where the hell was I going to go?

Going back to Hogwarts was a must, of course. I’ll need all the time and help I could get. I have no special talent, no ambition to any career, hell I didn’t even apply anywhere hoping my father would have a better sense in picking my husband.

Without gold, what would I do?

_You could become a journalist, you’ve always liked to write._

Sure, because I would simply love to become the newest Rita Skeeter.

_It is never too late to apply at St. Mungos._

I faint at the sight of blood.

_The ministry?_

Yeah right. I could go work at the centaur office.

_Adrian did it._

Adrian is an idiot. He doesn’t know what is good for him. Sometimes I think he should’ve been in Gryffindor.

_Oliver could help you. His mum loves you; she’d take you in for a while._

Oliver… of all things to worry about, he has to pop into my mind? I mentally slapped myself for even thinking of him. Then again…. I wasn’t sure if I could trust Aunt Adelaine, and Adrian was back at Hogwarts where I couldn’t apparate. Willow and Darlene were out of the question, and Terrence wasn’t even an option.

Merlin, my social circle was sadly deficient of friends.

Sighing, I made my decision. I just hoped it wouldn’t backfire. After all, I was new at this rush-of-the-moment thing. I took a hold of my trunk and with a deep breath I apparated to my destination.

I looked around me and snorted. I really shouldn’t have been surprised at his sense of decoration. We are talking about a psychopathically obsessed teenager, after all. There were more Quidditch posters and Quidditch diagrams -and were those Quidditch _figurines?_ -around me than I cared to count.

“Predictable,” I muttered, picking up a figurine of a brown-haired witch on a broom. Well, at least he had enough sense to have something from the Holyhead Harpies. I placed it down and took a deep breath. The house was awfully quiet, I thought narrowing my eyes. I began to see the stupidity of my plan.

What if he wasn’t home? The Wood’s were known for enjoying vacations, they had probably gone some place warmer and less snowy. I should have thought of that, I knew this whole impetuous business was not for me.

Bugger. Bugger. Bugger.

My chest heaving, I collapsed on the bed and covered my head with my arms, while my body shook against my will. Bugger, bugger, I cooed to myself.

There was the distinct sound of creaking wood. My ears perked up, trying to analyze it. Could it be that horrendous dog? What was her name, Daisy, Bubbles? Something ridiculous like that. Yet I knew it wasn’t the canine.  There was a repetitive pattern to the sound, which could only mean more than one pair of human feet.

I inhaled, terrified of what may happen next. Of course, being impulsive and all, it never occurred to me that I may not be an expected or welcome guest on a night such as this. I dimly wondered how Gryffindors manage to get through their thoughtless deeds without crippling their nervous system.

The door opened ever so slightly, not giving me enough time to compose myself or even get off the bed. Four semi-raised wands greeted me.

My breath quickened as the five of us stared at each other – they were surprised, I was mortified. And no one spoke a single damn word for what seemed like forever after.  That is, until I couldn’t handle the awkwardness anymore. “Happy New Years!” I tried to sound cheerful, my hand moved around my body as I tried to make a little dance step.

I get stupid when I’m nervous, okay?

Woody came back to his senses. “Sarah?” The sound of his voice immediately calmed my racing heart – at least I wasn’t going to get killed by four stupefy spells. Wood’s dad told the other two men to lower their wands, which they did although quite tersely. I probably wouldn’t have put mine away at all, but then again, I _am_ more suspicious than your average person.

“You’ve got a bird hidden in your room? And I thought you were still a virgin,” the younger guy of the two didn’t know said grinning like an idiot. I felt my cheeks flush unceremoniously.

“Shut up Doug,” Wood said while he glared at this Doug character who simply laughed. The adult exchanged glances. “Sarah, what are you doing here? It’s one in the morning.”

“Already?” I asked, checking my left wrist, which had a single, silver bracelet hanging from it. Of course, I never wore a watch, so I wasn’t sure why I checked at all. “Wow, I never even noticed when the clock hit midnight.”

“Is everything alright up there?” Mrs. Wood’s voice screamed from the lower floor.

“We are figuring that out, Grace,” Mr. Wood replied before settling his gaze back on me. I felt tremendously uncomfortable with it. “Would you mind explaining what you are doing here? I don’t recall extending an invitation.”

He could not have made me feel any warmer by throwing a big bucket of cold water over my head. “I am very sorry to have intruded so, Mr. Wood,” ironically, my father would’ve been proud of the good manners I was exhibiting, “You see, I happened to have run away from home and found myself with nowhere to go.”

For the first time since the thought occurred to me, I realized how stupid I sounded. No wonder Flint thought I was nuts.

Mrs. Wood –who had come upstairs without my noticing- ran from between her family and bear-hugged me, leaving me gasping for air. I never missed oxygen so much in my life. Mr. Wood, from what I could see between his wives’ curls, stood stoic as a piece of freshly cut marble. Woody on the other hand was to remove his mother from me while shooting question after question like they were bludgers.

“It’s complicated,” I said with what little breath Mrs. Wood allowed me. She quickly hushed her son for being so impertinent and insensitive. I thought I heard her mutter ‘just like your father’ as she led me out of the room and down the stairs. There were four more people sitting around the fire in the living room. Two looked to be Woody’s grandparents, but I wasn’t sure who the other two were.

Mrs. Wood began busying herself around the kitchen, arguing that I was in dire need of hot chocolate. It was a small, squared room with a large wooden table taking up most of the space. Despite the late hour, there was a warm fire bristling in a nearby fireplace, for which I was grateful. My feet were frozen.

Note to self: sandals are not proper winter shoes.

“For the moment that will suffice, dear. It will bring some colour back to your cheeks, we’ll fatten you later, ” she said, putting a mug of steaming brown liquid in front of me and making me feel like a Christmas turkey, but I didn’t reject the hot chocolate.  It turned out, it really did warm up my insides and made the nausea go down.

There were voices arguing on the other side of the door and while I couldn’t make out what they were saying, but I didn’t need to be psychic to guess. Mrs. Wood huffed before excusing herself. She was clearly audible when she yelled at her husband to quit his conspiracy theories and help the poor ailing girl.

When Mrs. Wood came back, she began fussing about me again; she brought me a sweater and refilled my mug, she even made tissues appear out of thin air when I began crying. I wasn’t conscious when it started; I could only tell after Mrs. Wood hugged me and began telling me it would be alright. The shock of adrenaline was gone from my system and I was left with all my anxiety, worry and lack of coherence to deal with.

Some time passed, how much I couldn’t tell, before Mrs. Wood released me. I tried to give her a small, sad smile which she returned with a genuine one. Wood was now sitting across from me, looking at the whole encounter. My cheeks felt hot again. He didn’t speak, and neither did I. Matter of fact, I tried to avoid his gaze, my thoughts dangling close to the mistletoe event, and I briefly wondered if he had thought about it at all.

 _Stop it_ , this is not the time to think about that – no matter how good it was.

“Elizabeth, darling,” Mrs. Wood’s voice cut through our unwelcome staring contest. “We’ll arrange Oliver’s room for you. I think you’ll be most comfortable there.”

“Please don’t,” I blurted out, “I don’t want to impose more than I’ve already done.”

She waved a hand at me as if I had said the silliest thing in the world. “It is no problem at all. Oliver can sleep in the sofa.”

“Thanks mum.”

* * *

 

The rest of Woody’s family had left, and I had a treacherous feeling that they were supposed to stay for the evening. I couldn’t believe it, but, for once in my life, I felt guilty that I had caused someone trouble. I could only hope the feeling would subside by the morning.

I had already resolved to go to Gringrotts and stay at the leaky cauldron for the rest of the holidays. Mrs. Wood had replaced the cover on Wood’s bed (“I wouldn’t dare of you sleeping in dirty sheet, my dear”), provided me with a brand new toothbrush and one of her son’s old Puddlemere shirts that reached only slightly below my arse just to save me the trouble of opening my trunk –and I forgot to pack a toothbrush anyway.

When I was dressed into my improvised nightgown and convinced Mrs. Wood (“Call me Grace, sweetheart”) that I was more than okay, Wood walked into the room. I had been pacing around the room, attacking my poor defenceless cuticles while mentally chastising myself.

I must’ve been quite the sight.

“All you alright?” his voice startled me, even though I had heard him come in.  Apparently, Wood likes to sleep in sweatpants. _Only_ sweatpants. My eyes couldn’t help but wander over his well-defined chest, the strong muscles in his arm, the way the light played with it all. He waved his hand in front of my face for quite some time before I reacted.

 _What is wrong with me_? I asked my inner voices. Here I am, having run away at the prospect of being married, and staring unabashedly at another XY’s chromosomes body.

Although, Wood always had a nice behind.

“Are you going to tell me what is going on, or should I step back so you can finish undressing me with your mind?” Cocky little bastard. I glared at him and walked away from him, more to keep my instincts to jump him right then and there than anything else.

I spoke only once I was a good distance away. “Where do you want me to start?”

“How about the beginning?”

“Well, once upon a time my mother and father had sex without protection, nine mo-”

“Sarah.”

I stifled a small laugh, perhaps the first one in a while. “My father, you know him, the biggest git on planet Earth?” he nodded, waving his hand to tell me to get on with it. “He planned an arranged marriage for me,” I blurted out before I could come up with a sufficiently good laugh. “I refused and wasn’t left with too many… options.”

“Wait,” he said, taking some steps closer to me. “You mean to tell me that he wanted to force you to marry against your will?” I nodded. “But you didn’t- I mean, you’re not, you know, engaged are you?”

Merlin he said it like as if it was a bad word.

“Or course not,” I lied, playing with the ends of my hair. “That’s why I’m here. When I refused, he kicked me out.” That was lame, I know, but with a few well placed sniffs I had Woody right around my finger.

“Have you told anybody?” he asked, putting a hand on my shoulder and squeezing. “I’m sure it’s illegal to try and force someone to-”

“It is,” I said, resting my hand on his. “But it’s better if this is solved internally. Meaning, I don’t go back,” I hurried to say. “He can’t, strictly speaking, force me. I always have the last say, but he can disown me”

Wood smiled and pushed some hair away from my face. My eyes closed at the contact, and I leaned in. “And is that okay with you?” he asked, his breath tickling my face. “I mean, will you be alright if he does disown you?”

I shrugged as a sob made its way up my throat, although a very odd croaking sound came up. “It’s better than the alternative,” I murmured. “I’ll just have to figure out what I’ll do; that’s all.”

“You can stay here as long as you need,” he said and I opened my eyes. His brown eyes were staring straight at me, and he looked serious. His thumb was rubbing the side of my cheek and I felt my knees buckle. Without noticing, I was leaning in until my mouth was but an inch away from him, and he hadn’t pulled back, I drew in breath, ready to close the distance when the door to the room opened.

Mrs. Wood was standing there, a quizzical look on his face. Without uttering another word, he closed the door and left.

My cheeks felt so hot you could’ve cooked eggs Benedict on them.

“Sarah?” Wo-Oliver, Oliver, you snogged the bloke twice (almost three times), you can call him by his first name, looked at me strangely. I had jumped when the door opened, and now there was this awkward distance between us.

Bugger.

“Bed time?”

 


	19. Truthful

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “That was quite a spectacle, Elizabeth,” Aunt Adelaine said the moment she was done crossing her legs at the ankles and tucking them in. She and Armand had decided to share the bed, while William leaned against the closed door.
> 
> “Which one, downstairs just now or last night?”

## 

The night slipped through like water through fingers, and I got at most an hour worth of sleep. Sometime just before dawn I gave up pretending, and waited by the window for the sun to come up. The Malfoy ball seemed like it was from a lifetime ago. I tried not to think of Marcus’ crushed face as he let me go or what my future would entail. I already knew I didn’t want anything for breakfast.

The Wood’s were morning people, as I remembered from ten years of shared summers, so I waited until the noises in the house told me all three of them were up. Sighing, I opened my trunk and began searching it for viable clothes. Showing up wearing Oliver’s old shirt just wouldn’t do. His mother had more than enough material to suspect things without me giving her more.

I felt my cheeks get hotter and my breathing sharper as I recounted the little incident. My head shook of its own accord, clearly I wasn’t thinking straight. My first instinct was to deny, deny, deny. The stress must’ve gotten to me, what other explanation was there for my sudden attraction to Oliver Wood?

None.       

Adrian has a hot body too, and you don‘t see me attracted to him, do you?  
Exactly.

I pulled out a dress that William gave me last Christmas, which I’m sure was meant to discourage the showing any sort of female curves and put it on. I looked at my reflection in the window, and had the impression I looked like I had a black pillow cover instead of an actual piece of clothing.

Knowing it was pointless to delay the inevitable, I put on some footwear and inched my way downstairs, cringing every time a floorboard made a noise. I took a moment to breathe in deeply before turning the corner that would lead me to the kitchen which was a good thing too, because I almost had a heart attack.

“Good morning, Elizabeth,” Aunt Adelaine was there, in person, sipping tea like it was the most perfectly normal thing in the world. Not only that, but William and Armand where with her, talking about Quidditch with Oliver of all things (well, Armand was, William looked like he had eaten a raw quail egg).

“I’m glad to see you didn’t throw out my Christmas present this year, sister.”  
“I always keep them, William,” I said with a shaky smile. I just never used them. Mrs. Wood greeted me from the stove, showing me a hefty portion of scrambled eggs. My stomach grumbled, and a wave of humiliation washed over me. I could hear Armand snicker. “So… happy new years?”

“Good morning, Elizabeth, darling, omelette?” Mrs. Wood seemed oblivious to the obvious tension in her kitchen this morning. Bless her.

Armand was shaking his head, while spreading a disproportionate amount of jelly on his toast. Mr. Wood was pointedly reading the Daily Prophet, and Oliver was staring at his empty plate like it held the fate of Gryffindor’s chances of winning the Quidditch cup.

“Actually, if you wouldn’t mind Grace,” Aunt Adelaine interrupted, wiping her thin lips with a napkin and setting it down on top of her empty plate.“I would like a word with my niece. In private.”

I was in deep shit. “Of course, you can use Oliver’s room. Elizabeth knows the way,” both my brothers glared at the boy in question while my aunt merely raised her eyebrows.

Oh boy, was I in trouble.

 “Oh please, I didn’tsleep in the room with him,” I watched in horror as Mr. Wood choked on his toast, and William’s face lost all colour. Armand merely finished his toast, while Aunt Adelaine shook her head.

“Lead the way, then, Elizabeth,” she said, her lips barely moving. Taking one last, longing look at the omelet that was meant for me, I turned on my heels and back upstairs, not bothering to check if they were following me.

I took a seat as far away from the bed as possible, by the same maroon chair I watched the sun rise that morning and waited. Soon enough I heard the door close as the three of them arranged themselves, William steering clear from the bed. 

“That was quite a spectacle, Elizabeth,” Aunt Adelaine said the moment she was done crossing her legs at the ankles and tucking them in. She and Armand had decided to share the bed, while William leaned against the closed door.

 “Which one, downstairs just now or last night?”

“Both,” replied William. He walked over to Aunt Adelaine, creating a nice, confining semi-circle around me. I suddenly felt claustrophobic. I folded my knees beneath my arse and crossed my arms tightly against my chest. I stared at each turn, but said nothing.

Aunt Adelaine sighed. “Perhaps we should start at the beginning.”  
“And pray tell, what would that be?” I asked, leaning back against the sofa. Suddenly, I was no longer afraid of them; Merlin knew I had messed up my life enough that answering to my aunt and bleeding brothers was no longer a big issue.

“Perhaps then you would care to explain yesterday’s events?”

I felt myself snap. “Oh, I’m sorry, I wasn’t aware publicly running away was only something only _you_ could do,” I said with a small sneer. Aunt Adelaine’s eyes widened, but she gave no other indication of being taken aback.

“That was uncalled for, Elizabeth,” William said, “Believe it or not, we are here to help.”  
I scoffed.

“April told me everything the moment she left Narcissa Malfoy’s tea party,” William continued, still scowling, “I tried to reach you that afternoon, but you weren’t home.”

“I was out.”

William shared a look with the other two before continuing. “You didn’t get any of my owls, did you?”

Owls?

The only correspondence I’d had since returning from Hogwarts was Oliver’s note to meet urgently the day of Narcissa’s party. I shook my head, leaning forward, but William was suddenly facing Armand. “Nicholas must have intercepted them, then.”

“Nicholas?” I asked, my eyes narrowing. What did he have to do with anything? Other than the fact that he is a sodding toe rag, of course.

“We can’t be sure William,” Aunt Adelaine said, pushing some hair behind her ear, “Although you are probably right.”

“Hello!” I said, waving my hands and raising my voice. “What is going on? Why would Nicholas intercept Will’s owls, but not-others?” I added, quietly. I had almost said ‘but not Oliver’s.’

“Let’s just say Nicholas is invested in you marrying Flint,” Armand said, looking straight at me. “He would know William, the family lawyer, would try to interfere. Do you know what it is like to find out by a third party that your little sister got engaged to a git?”

I shrugged. “It isn’t enjoyable,” Armand continued. “And what is worse, is that said sister didn’t even have the brains to consult her older brothers before she signed her life away.”

I scoffed, my lips curling over my teeth. “Do you know what else is awful, Armand?” I asked, my hands shaking at my side. “Try finding out your _father_ was accused of not one, but three nasty murders, including the incapacitation of his own wife. From a third party. And what is worse,” I continued, ignoring the three stupefied faces. “Knowing that your family _lied_ to you. Depression was it you called it?”

The urge to yell at them consumed me, but my words choked in my throat. How dare they, accuse me of acting on my own when it was obvious I couldn’t trust them? Aunt Adelaine hid her face in between her hands, and both my brothers looked away. William muttered something under his breath, but I didn’t catch it. “I always dreaded this would happen,” Aunt Adelaine whispered after a tense silence. “I knew we should have told you the truth earlier but…”

“But what?” I said, my voice shaking and my fingers digging into the sides of the sofa.

“We thought we had more time,” she finished, looking up. She was tearing up, and it was only the sight of her watery blue eyes that calmed my rage down.

“How much do you know?” William asked, peeling himself off the door and walking forward. He sat cross-legged on the ground. I glared at him for a moment before answering.

“The bones, I don’t know all the details,” I said, but he waved his hand to indicate that I should go on. “I know about mum’s relationship with Edgar Bones – when they were in Hogwarts. And I know dad was accused of killing him, his wife and two of his daughters. A few weeks later, he was accused of hurting mum, but I don’t know why.”

“You know a fair amount,” Armand said, scratching his chin. I nodded.

“I read her letters, from Hogwarts. I found them at home,” they are in my trunk right now. I re-read them last night.

“Sarah and Edgar were together for several years,” Aunt Adelaine said, staring straight ahead. “He was a Ravenclaw in her year, one above mine. I’m sure you know about Grace as well?”

I nodded. “I figured it out.”

“Yes of course. You didn’t think she just liked you because of your charming personality, did you?” Aunt Adelaine said with a nod and a roll of her eyes. “She was friends with Edgar, they were both prefects in the same house, and she helped keep it secret, I imagine you understand why.”

“He was Muggle born.”

“Yes, and your grandfather would have disinherited if he as much as got a wisp of a rumour. Your mother was very fond of her father so when he suggested she marry Antonious…” Aunt Adelaine trailed off, her eyes still staring at the dirty rug.

“She broke up with Edgar,” I said, uncrossing my legs. “I know, I’ve read the letters.”

Aunt Adelaine seemed to breathe in deeply, before she got up and walked towards me. “Like you, like me, your mother was brought up to become a wife – and I believe there was a part of her that relished in that idea; perhaps she came to love my brother at one point, but Edgar was the love of her life.”

“Why were you able to scrape off then?” I asked, my eyes locking with hers. “Why were you able to marry outside the circle?”

“Because my father was dead, and my husband was pure-blooded,” she replied. “But that isn’t what you want to know is it?” I shook my head. “Then don’t interrupt. Your parents married and were happy –for a time. But then the Dark Lord began gaining power, and things got sour.”

“You don’t remember because you were three,” William said from his place on the floor. “Deaths and disappearances were occurring daily, it was chaos. And dad was out of the house more often than in, which was a good thing because whenever he was home they would argue.”

“It was awful,” Armand chipped in. “Sometimes they would start fighting at five in the morning. You could hear them; we would all crawl into William’s bed and wait it out. When he entered Hogwarts, we still hid in his room, like a heaven.”

I scrunched my eyes, trying to remember, but my memory was blank. “Then when I came back from Hogwarts for Christmas break the year you-know-who fell,” William continued. “Mum picked me up at the station; she had the lot of you there. She seemed hurried, afraid even, kept looking over her shoulder. I remember she had you in her arms, Lisa,” he said, his green eyes glazing. “And you were crying, hugging a stuffed toy like it was your lifeline. Mum was carrying a large trunk.”

“Then Grace Wood appeared, hurrying her son behind her,” Armand picked up, “She grabbed mum’s arm to stop her exiting the platform. She said someone was dead and that he knew. She should flee, but to a different location.”

“Mum blanked, and then she began to shriek that it was a lie, but Grace insisted it was true,” William said, closing his eyes as if he was seeing the action behind his eyelids. “Dad appeared and mum grabbed her wand, but he snapped it away. We apparated back home, and dad told us to run to our rooms. They argued for hours,” he sighed. “And mum didn’t come out of her room for days.”

“Your father was accused of murdering Edgar Bones’ family, but got off,” Aunt Adelaine said, wiping the corners of her eyes, “When you-know-who fell, Sarah applied for divorce. My brother had lost a lot: he was accused of multiple murders, he lost his job, his reputation was in shambles – and now his wife wanted to terminate their marriage. It was the drop that filled the cauldron.”

“What happened?” I whispered, my nails clenching the edge of the sofa hard enough to make small rips on the worn leather. My brothers exchanged glances, but Aunt Adelaine’s cold blue eyes were focused on a spot just above my head; they were shining with cold anger.

“Grace and I _tried_ to get her out of the house.,” pinpricks exploded thought every inch of my skin as my lungs stopped moving. “Sarah insisted she had to face Antonious, so she only agreed to have you lot spend the night at my house.”

“But before we left, little Nicholas flooed over to where father was temporarily working,” Armand said, bile spilling with each word. “And he told him _everything_.”

Aunt Adelaine shot him an annoyed look, before she took my clammy hands in hers. “I was going to pick you up before your dad got home from work. But before I could even floo over, I received a call from an old friend who worked at St. Mungo’s. Your mum had been admitted to the hospital, injured, and you four were there crying. My brother was in custody.”

I could hear my brother’s shallow breathing coupled with my own incessant beating heart. It was as if someone had clamped their hands tightly against my ears, so that only certain sounds passed, but not all. I closed my eyes, trying in vain to make some sort of sense of what they were saying; when I opened it, I could have sworn my world had lost all colour. “She lost the baby, did-didn’t she?”

Aunt Adelaine nodded. “Since you’ve read the articles, you know that Antonious got off, again. He and Nero Flint managed to make it seem like Sarah was attacked by rouge Death Eaters.”

I snapped my hands away from hers and cradled them close to my chest. My belly was burning, “Why didn’t you say anything? Surely you must have had some evidence or-“

Aunt Adelaine lifted her hand, long fingers begging for silence. “We had no proof. Unfortunately, Flint is a brilliant lawyer. And what could say, Elizabeth?” she added, rolling her eyes when I opened my mouth to argue, “It was known Sarah wanted a divorce but unfortunately, there was nothing concrete to use against him. Merlin, we don’t even _know_ what happened. William had you two hide in the attic and none of you heard or saw anything.”

“Ironically,” Armand pitched in. “Father used our hiding as proof that it was death eaters. He said mum told us to run upstairs and hide.”

“So this could all not be true?” I asked, feeling a slight and stupid bubble of hope rising up. “If no one saw anything, then maybe-“  
“You are forgetting someone,” William said, getting up and straightening his robes. “Nicholas the snitch. I would bet my life he knows exactly what curses father used,” a dark look crossed over his face, making my toes curl. “But the past is gone, and we cannot change it. We must focus on the present.”

Aunt Adelaine nodded and gracefully brought herself up to her feet. “I believe we are all in agreement this _engagement_ ,” she paused, curling her lips over her teeth, “must be broken?” both my brothers nodded; I did too, after a moment. “Good, then William you must procure that contract. There ought to be a way.”

William sighed, and shook his head, his fringe falling down to cover his eyes. “A magical contract is not easily broken just because one of the parties decides they made a mistake. However,” he added when Aunt Adelaine began to retort. “There are clauses which make it breakable – the problem is, they are quite stringent in their terms.”

“What are they usually?” I asked, pulling my feet off from under me and stretching them in front of me. “Can’t I just turn Flint into a zebra?”

Armand chuckled, but William sent me an annoyed glare. “These types of contracts are misogynist. They will break if the marriage is no longer deemed advantageous for the groom. They don’t give a chocolate frog for what you want.”

I blinked, “Define ‘no longer advantageous.’”

“Not the right thing to do-for the groom. It would have to be a low blow to the groom’s reputation.”

I scoffed. “So I just have to cheat on him, publicly perhaps?” easy.

“More drastic, I’m afraid,” William said, avoiding my gaze.

I narrowed my eyes. “I would have to have some other bloke’s baby? I could-manage.”

Both my brothers winced and Armand muttered, “Not what I wanted to hear.”

William, on the other hand, was waving his hand impatiently. “That would be easy to conceal; Flint would take responsibility and raise the bastard as his own. Some other legal methods would be used to ensure the child does not come to any important family inheritance. Like I said, it has to be something the groom cannot escape from.”

I scratched my head, trying to think of what I could get Flint to do to damage his reputation enough, but I couldn’t come up with anything. Other than turning him into a zebra. But then I felt bad for the zebra population, having to put up with him from then on…

“Well, I’m sure once William takes a closer look at the contract something will occur to us. The ends will justify the means, I’m sure,” Aunt Adelaine said after five minutes of tense silence. She turned around to face me, hands on her hips, “In the meantime, I’ve spoken to Grace, Elizabeth. It was very nice of her to take you in last night, but it is not proper to impose more than necessary.”

I nodded in agreement, “I was going to go to the leaky cauldron tonight,” I said, “After I get some gold.”

“Nonsense,” she waved her hand dismissively. “No niece of mine is staying in that precarious little tavern. You’ll be staying with Armand,” a nasty grin broke on my brother’s handsome face; I heard him mutter something that sounded an awful lot like ‘thank Merlin you are of age.’ That should be interesting, I thought as I finished packing what little I had unpacked that morning. William had excused himself to go visit father, and act as our diplomatic liaison while Armand fled home to prepare the apartment (read: clean the toilet).

Aunt Adelaine was placidly tapping her heeled shoes on the hardwood floor. I grabbed my wand, which I had stupidly left on the side table, and charmed my trunk back into a small leather handbag. I flung it over my shoulder, grabbed my coat with my free hand and looked up. Aunt Adelaine nodded and walked towards the door, she held it open for me. “By the way,” she said, putting an arm across the opening so I couldn’t escape, “I suppose this little incident has nothing to do with a certain someone downstairs, does it Elizabeth?"  
I felt my cheeks heat up. "Of course not."

 


	20. Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “How are you feeling?” Willow asked when we were halfway to the infirmary.
> 
> “Like having an aneurysm."

## 

“Lisa!” the cry came from somewhere behind me, uncomfortably close if I may say so. Cursing under my breath, I turned around to face the owner of the voice I knew so well and had tried, clearly in vain, to avoid. Adrian, who was sitting next to me, looked up from his toast and bacon.

“Francis, Gwendolyn, to what do I owe the pleasure of this early morning visit?”

They took seats in front of me. “Why didn’t you come to _us_ , Lisa?” Gwen nodded, ignoring Adrian as he offered her some toast.

I took a deep breath before mentally going over the list of lies I could use to get out of this one. “It would’ve been too obvious?”

Gwen scoffed. “Like your choice wasn’t? It took mum two hours to find you – and the only reason why William didn’t break into the house was because April stupefied him.”

Adrian chuckled. I slapped him on the back of his head. I’d deal with him later.

“You know we would never have said anything, Lisa. We’re family, despite our best efforts to the contrary.”

“Well then, I guess I wasn’t thinking, beloved cousin,” I said, slapping my toast against the plate. The two blondes glared at me. “What do you want me to say?”

They shrugged. Merlin, sometimes I think they are bloody twins…

“Listen here,” I said, leaning in against the table so no one walking by could overhear me. “What happened this holiday needs to stay secret; you two _need_ to swear you’ll keep your busy little mouths shut or-“

“Aw, we haven’t even reached our first anniversary and you are already ashamed of me, dear?” Flint’s voice said, dangerously close to my ear, causing me to jump and hit my head against his jaw. “Merlin’s pants woman, watch what you are doing!”

“Then don’t creep up on me like the creepy stalker you are, Flint!” I massaged my head as he sat down on my left. My glare never softened. “And keep your voice down or the entire Hall will hear you.”

He rolled his eyes and grabbed some eggs from right underneath Francis’ nose. “Good morning, _cousin_ ,” he said, wringing his eyebrows at Gwendolyn who scowled. “Beautiful day to be with the family, isn’t it?”

I growled, but kept quiet. Francis was physically unable to. “Whatever this abnormal thing is,” he motioned to us with a hand. “Needs to stop Flint. You _will_ put an end to it,” I scoffed. Because I am so damn useless I can’t fix my own blunders, right?

Flint merely shook his head, chortling. “Wish I could, dear dork, but your cousin and I are in a situation in which there is no real exit.”  
“Then make one,” Francis challenged, rising slowly from his chair. Gwen grabbed him by his robes and pushed him down.

“You don’t care about this engagement as much as you are pretending to, Flint,” she said, her eyes staring straight ahead, challenging the six foot five bloke in front of her. “Why not try to find a more suitable arrangement?”

It was Flint’s turn to chuckle. “You sure you are a Ravenclaw?”

Gwen intensified her glare, looking like a blond version of McGonagall. “Listen here, little one, your big cousin made her choice, and there is no magical way to break it; nor that I would want to, since it greatly benefits, so you should just-“  
“I wasn’t talking about magically breaking the contract,” Gwen retaliated, jumping to her feet and pulling on Francis’ robes to get him up. “But if you are too dense to see it, then what is the point in me telling you?” she walked off before any of us could reply.

“Like I said before, Liz, your cousin is one of a kind,” Adrian chuckled, grabbing some more bacon. I grabbed him by the collar and dragged him out of the hall. We almost bumped into Wood who was talking to a pretty redhead. I felt my kidneys crush, but I just kept on dragging Adrian away.

oOo

“Now, if you please, proceed to transfigure your desk into a giraffe. And Ms. Blackthorne, may I remind you your giraffe last time still had wooden legs?” McGonagall said, walking back towards her desk and shaking her head.

“How about I transfigure Elizabeth into a giraffe? Do you reckon she may be less than a blood traitor if I did?” Darlene muttered into my ears. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. Her taunts were nothing comparing to some of the others I’ve had to endure.

Trust me, walking into the common room and having _Draco Malfoy_ tease the mickey out of you and subsequently proceed to hex the little demon is not at all dignified.

But that was what you dealt with once you had put one miserable toe out of line.

I sighed and concentrated on my desk. This past week had been a ruddy nightmare. I got a ‘T’ in my last arithmancy essay; a third year dropped a slimy, smelly green jelly-like thing on my hair which took hours to clean, and everywhere I turned I encountered either a sneering Flint or a concerned looking Wood.

“Camelopardalis,” I muttered, flicking and swishing my wand. The desk in front of me sprouted a giraffe’s head and tail, but the legs and body remained decidedly made of wood. I wanted to cry.

McGonagall sent me a conflicted look over her squared rim glasses before returning to her parchment. Transfiguration was _my_ thing the way being a jerk was Adrian’s. I reversed the spell, transforming my mutant giraffe back into a table and was about to try again when the bell rang.

I threw my textbook, ink and quill into my bag and flung it over my shoulders as Adrian called out my name. I rushed to the door, desperate to get out the classroom. I saw Wood coming towards me out of the corner of my eyes, and literally run him over. I didn’t stop until I had reached the library, where I promptly sat down in a far off chair and muffled a scream against my bag.

Potions didn’t go much better than transfiguration. We were working on a blood replenishing potion, which had to be matched to the blood type of the person we were going to administer it to. In this case, we were matching it to our blood. I was carefully measuring agrimony, when I heard Darlene whisper something to Terrence.

“Do you reckon Montieth’s potion is going to turn muddy brown?” I gritted my teeth together, and threw the powder in, moving over to measure an ounce of dragon blood.

I saw Terrence smirk as he peered into his potion. “Is muddy brown the colour of traitors, Darlene? I’m sure the potion will explode, who’d want to replenish tainted stock?”

My vial slipped from my fingers and broke on the table. I scrunched my eyes closed, willing my heartbeat to slow down. Adrian moved my hand over to clean up the mess. “Ignore them, Liz.”

I shot him a nasty glare, going back to the storage room to grab some more blood. I bumped into Wood, almost causing an entire jar of dead spiders to fall down on me. “Steady there,” he said, grabbing me by the arm and pushing the offending jar back into place. “You seem distraught.”

“Pass me the dragon blood,” I said not looking at him. Distraught, Wood? More like ostracized and for what? Because I publicly said that I didn’t want to marry someone who once upon a time had trolls in his lineage. I wasn’t a blood traitor for wanting to make my choices, was I?

“There you go,” he was handing me the vials with the blood. “Sarah, can we talk? I feel like-“  
“I don’t give a crap how you feel like, Wood,” I snapped, grabbing the vials from him and holding them tight enough to crack one. “A have a lot on my plate right now and I cannot deal with you.” I spun on my heel and walked back.

Adrian looked at me as he stirred his cauldron. Had it been this hard for him? Father had sent me a bleeding _howler_ the other day. A Howler! Usually purebloods were far more cognizant of being subtle and keep the dirty laundry inside the house.

“ _You’ve embarrassed us all,_ ” his voice sounding eerily calm despite being ten times louder than usual. _“Please reconsider your actions, Elizabeth.”_

You can imagine the _rumors_. Being a student at Hogwarts, and getting a howler for that matter, was enough to generate the wildest kinds of conjectures. But being in Slytherin and being subtly threatened by your family meant that the lies were that much more poignant, and that much more damaging. All sorts of things were going on and yet surprisingly, no one had spotted the truth even if they courted it.

I had heard a group of sixth year girls saying I was carrying a muggle’s child. Another was swearing I had trashed Malfoy Manor during New Year’s Eve, declaring the Dark Lord and all pureblood beliefs to be idle stupidities. Some guessed that I had refused to marry some eighty year old wanker with lots of gold, while the majority speculated I was planning on running away with some muggleborn.

The one person who came uncannily closer to the truth had been Darlene. She had shut up the giggling fourth years who were debating the chances I was having an affair with a goblin by telling them that in fact, I was in love with Oliver Wood.

Of course, _those_ rumors hadn’t been confined to our little house even if that’s where most of the taunts and sneers came from.

I dropped the vial of blood into my cauldron and increased the heat. It was just unfair; I thought as I watched the potion bubble and begin to turn a deep crimson. When Adrian had willingly sacrificed his status and corresponding benefits, he hadn’t deal with _half_ of the crap I was dealing with. It had quieted down within a week, while my personal plight seemed like it would never end.

“Did you see that? Wood just came out of the storage room; do you reckon they’ve been creating little monsters in there?”

I narrowed my eyes, threw in some hippogriff talons and stirred. I heard Adrian say something anxiously before he grabbed me by the arm and pushed me towards him.

He was too late.

The potion exploded with a deafening roar, splattering half-cooked blood over the walls and tearing my cauldron apart. I caught the brunt of it. “Lisa, are you okay?” Adrian shouted frantically. I was rooted in my spot, my skin beginning to burn as boils formed on my arms and face.

My lip trembled. When I looked down at my arm, it was to see white skin giving way to red muscle. “Move, you lot, move,” I heard Snape say; I looked up, he was pushing Francis and Wood back with one hand, a vial filled with white liquid in his other hand. “Close your eyes, Ms. Montieth, this is going to sting,” he dabbed the liquid on my face; I felt it running down my nose and cheek, burning and stinging as it went. It felt like being stung by hundreds of bees at once. Then the feeling spread to my arms. “You can open them now,” I did with great difficulty. My arm was still exposed, but some of the skin had recovered and it had stopped disintegrating.

I needed to throw up.

“Mr. Pucey and Ms. Blackthorne please escort Ms. Montieth to the hospital wing,” they didn’t need to be told twice. Carefully, Adrian seized me by the shoulders pushing me forwards; Willow was by my side, holding my un-burnt hand.

“How are you feeling?” Willow asked when we were halfway to the infirmary.

“Like having an aneurysm.”

“Don’t say that,” Adrian said curtly. “Madam Pomfrey will be able to fix it; Snape already stopped the burning of the skin. All we need to do now is re-grow it.”  
I saw Willow’s auburn head moving up and down. “Thankfully, you only got it in your arms and some of your cheeks.”

“Whatever you do, don’t show me a mirror.”

oOo

* * *

 Madam Pomfrey an entire night to re-grow my skin, even if according to her I had been lucky: the damage wasn’t too extensive and with Snape’s quick actions, the worst scarring had been avoided. No one had been allowed to visit me until she removed the bandages late in the afternoon of my second day of stay.

I had laid in bed for two days, mulling over everything in my head, and come to the conclusion that I had been behaving like a child. I couldn’t let Darlene or Terrence’s comments get to me; if I wanted to break that damned contract I had to keep my head over my shoulders. William hadn’t owled me yet, which meant that he still didn’t know the extent of the damage I had caused by signing the contract. But if someone could figure it out, it would be William.

“Now, stay still as I remove the bandages,” Madam Pomfrey said, pointing her wand at me. Adrian was waiting just outside my curtains. She began moving her wand in circles around my head, the white bandages that had covered my burned cheeks fell off like dead skin. I lifted my fingers to touch my skin, and let out a sigh of relief when I noticed it was back to its original suppleness.

When she was done uncovering my arms she handed me a potion in a jar and said, “Apply this generously every night for a fortnight. It’ll make sure your skin stays hydrated,” I grabbed the potion and put it inside my bag. I quickly repacked my meager two get-well-cards (from Gwen and Adrian) and lone chocolate frog (from Willow) that I hadn’t eaten before opening the curtains.

Adrian was sitting on a nearby bed, chatting calmly Gwen. I hadn’t heard her come in. They both rushed to their feet when I walked out. “Lisa! How are you feeling?”

“I’m alright, I guess,” I said, my voice hoarse from lack of use. Gwen walked up to me and offered me a small hug. Adrian was right behind her, his arm outstretched as he pulled me in by the neck.

“You are an idiot,” he said into my hair. “You needed to wait until the potion had cooled off before adding those stupid talons.”

I rolled my eyes, even though he couldn’t see me. “Now you tell me?”

He chuckled and let go. I looked over his shoulder, to see Wood standing by the door an unreadable look on his face. One of my hands was still clinging to Adrian’s waist and my head was still tucked beneath his. I knew I wanted to say something, but couldn’t figure out what it was. So I smiled and he nodded back, before walking out of the hospital wing.

“Let’s go get dinner,” Adrian said ignoring the brief pout of disappointed that I was certain had appeared on my face, “I reckon you haven’t got a decent meal in two days.”

Gwen walked beside us as we made our way towards the Slytherin table. I shot her a questioning look but she shook her head. “Let them stare; they are nothing but slimy toads to us.” I nodded, squeezing her shoulder in silent thanks as we took our seats.

I knew it was too narcissistic of me to believe that all the whispers and mutterings going around in the table were about me, but I couldn’t help but feel like I had a bloody bulls eye panted on my forehead. Gwen and Adrian were trying to distract me, talking about Quidditch and the Harpies’ chances now that they had defeated the Arrows. I nodded and commented when needed to, but my heart wasn’t in it (even if I hated to Arrows).

“ _When there is a will, there will always be a way_.”

I was mulling over Mrs. Malfoy’s unrequited advice, pondering on the rashness of my actions and whether I could live with the consequences when Flint pushed Gwen over and sat down in front of me. “We need to talk.”  
“Breaking up with me already, Flinty? Pass the treacle tart,” I extended my hand to receive the dish. Flint didn’t move an inch.

“As much as it bothers me to admit it, Montieth, you are right. We can’t go through with this.”

Beside me, Gwen snorted. “Have you found out a way to break the contract?”

“No,” he admitted, no longer looking as determined as before. “But there is a way, there is always a way. “

“Or perhaps in Slytherin you’ll make your real friends; those cunning folks use any means to achieve their ends.” Three heads turned to the side to look at Gwen, who was staring us down with an insufferable air of superiority. “That’s what the sorting hat said on my first year,” she said with a slight shrug. “Perhaps we should start with the library?”

* * *

 

“You two really don’t have to help with this you know,” I said, dumping a pile of books on the already overflowing library table. “We can manage.” We could always just have the ruddy summer wedding and apply for a divorce before the honeymoon started…

Gwen arched an eyebrow and looked at me briefly over the book she was perusing, before promptly ignoring me. “I doubt that. You two don’t have a full brain combined.”

“Besides,” Adrian chipped in, exchanging his book for a new one. “Imagine the leverage I’ll have on you two if this works out.”

“Stinking son of a –” Flint’s mutterings were interrupted by a second year Hufflepuff who had approached our table nervously looking down and twirling his fingers. “What do you want?”

“Um… I was asked to tell Miss Montieth that Professor Snape wants to see her,” he muttered before scrambling off. I exchanged wry glances with all my companions, packed a few books into my bag and walked off.

“Take the rest to the common room,” I told them before I left. “I’ll look at them after dinner.”

I made my way to the dungeons a bit faster than I normally would. Snape wasn’t known for summoning students to his office late Friday afternoon, and it unnerved me. I knocked on the door two times and waited for him to open, the sound echoing in the empty hallway. The heavy door swung open, revealing Professor Snape looking as dashing as ever in his bat-costume. He motioned for me to walk in with one hand gesture. “You have a visitor, Miss. Montieth,” he said, “I’ll be back in a few minutes to escort him out.”

He closed the door behind him, leaving me alone with Nicholas in the creepy, dark and fungi-smelling dungeon. I made sure to keep my head high, my eyes leveled with his. “Where are your manners, Lizzie?” Nicholas said, smiling. “Not even a hello?”

“Hello.”

He clicked his tongue and walked nearer me. I stood my ground, not sure what to expect. “You gave us all a right scare running off like that, Lisa; father was especially distraught. You should know better, he isn’t as young as he was.”

“Am I to believe you are here only to tell me off for _scaring_ you, Nicholas?”  
He morphed his features into a look of surprise which didn’t reach his hazel eyes. “You wound me, sister. I am here out of brotherly concern.”

“I doubt you’ve ever known what it is to be concerned about someone else,” I replied scathingly back. “Why are you here?”

His demeanor faltered as a sneer replaced his smile, and his eyes twinkled with dislike. “I’m here to do what father is too complacent to do: remind of you of your place and your duties,” he crept closer, his lips curling so high over his teeth I could see his gums

“Like you did with mum?”

He stopped, turned his head to the smile and smirked. “So the dragon is out of the egg, isn’t it? Did William and Armand tell you at last, convinced that you are not a silly little girl that needs to be guarded, hm?” I stared at him, my lips sealed. “Let me tell you what those two mother-lover twits probably didn’t. Mother was a traitor and a whore, and like you she-”

“She was your mother.”

“She got what was coming,” I took a step forward coming to stand only a foot in front of him. Nicholas chortled. “Don’t like hearing the truth, Elizabeth?”  
“No, I just think a disembowelment curse will have greater effect from a shorter distance,” I replied, caressing the wand inside my robe. Nicholas grabbed my jaw with one hand, forcing my teeth to scrape against one another.

“I told father he was far too lenient with you,” he hissed, spitting on my face. “I told him he needed to hold you close or soon you’d start to get ideas like mother did. You know what they say, if there is something wrong with the bitch-”

“-there is something wrong with the pup,” I replied, pressing my wand tightly against his Adam’s apple. He released my jaw and stared at me open eyed. “Tell father this, owl, I have no intention of ever returning to that house, and I really don’t care about his inheritance; I’ll break that contract, and that’ll be the last he’ll see of me.”

Nicholas surprised me by laughing. “You think that? Then you are far dimmer than I ever gave you credit for,” he pushed my wand out of his neck, scratching himself in the process. I quickly raised it again, not wanting to give him an opening. “I’ll see you at your wedding, Elizabeth. I’ll be the best man.” He walked around me, pushing his shoulder against mine.

I stood rooted in the moldy room, trying to regain my breathing. My wand was sill pointed upwards at a shelve full of jars with slimy things inside it. My legs were shaking and my arms trembled. I knew it was imperative that I rush back to the common room, and don’t fall asleep until I have read each and every single book on magical law the library had, but I too much adrenaline cursing through my blood to concentrate.

I needed a distraction.

Pocketing my wand again, I sprinted out of the dungeons and passed the Entrance Hall. Dinner was still in full swing, so I knew for certain that Quidditch practices would be over. I dashed past the dementors, shivering as I did and made my way across the grounds and towards the Quidditch pitch. I bumped shoulders with the Gryffindor seeker, practically threw the poor kid on the ground but paid him no mind. I was inside the changing rooms in record time.

They were quiet and empty, except for the rhythmic sound of water. I threw my bag and robe on the floor, my jumper following after. I tore my tie out and slammed it against a bench. I was pacing around the room, one foot after another in quick movements like a hyperactive squirrel. I pulled my hair up to let some air touch my neck; it was damp and hot.

Oh the misogynistic, pigeon-headed toad! I would show him, I would break that contract and then I would stuff the parchment pieces into his kidney pie with a generous dose of belladonna for flavor! I would-

“Sarah?” I turned around and tried very, very hard not to goggle at scantily clad Oliver Wood. Damn, towels should be made illegal. “I can wait until you regain your wits; keep staring I’m not charging yet.”

I closed my eyes and shook my head, my hair falling off its bun. “Sorry I was momentarily-“

“-impressed?”

“-distracted,” I corrected him. He turned around and opened his locker; the towel that kept him PG-13 hung loosely on his hips, but he didn’t seem to care.

“I’m surprised you are here,” he said, grabbing a pair of trousers and removing the towel. I immediately covered my eyes, leaving enough space between my fingers to peek through. “Relax, I have underpants on.”  
That wasn’t nearly as relaxing as he thought it would be. “Why are you surprised I’m here?” I asked, choosing to sit on the bench where my robe and jumper were.

He shot me an angry look as he zipped his trousers up. “Because you’ve been avoiding me like a bludger.”

“I’ve been busy Oliver, things haven’t exactly been-”

“Please, save the busy excuse,” he retorted, looking into his locker for what I presumed (Hoped? Dreaded?) was a shirt. “Your life isn’t the only one that’s complicated, princess.”

I leaped up at this, “Oh yes? Pray tell then, your bleeding highness, what has marred your perfect existence?”

He shot me an angry look and closed his locker door with a bang. “Let’s see. My team doesn’t seem to be taking Ravenclaw as seriously as they should,” I rolled my eyes, of course: _Quidditch_. Please, I have actual problems! “My seeker got a Firebolt and McGonagall confiscated it –”

“A firebolt?” I blinked, halfway through curling my hair in a finger. “A real one?” He nodded forlornly. “Merlin, that must have cost a fortune.”  
“That’s beside the point! McGonagall thinks it might be jinxed and wants to examine it,” I inhaled rather sharply, Wood acknowledged the atrocity with a shake of his head. “And the Ravenclaw match is nearing – he can’t play with one of the school’s brooms!”

“Of course not, those things are a safety hazard-”

“And then, to top it all, you are driving me mental, woman! Mental!”

I snorted, taking a few step forwards towards him. “I’m driving you mental? Oliver, you don’t know the definition of mental.”

His cheeks were red and his nostrils were flaring. “You can’t just snog a bloke, act like a princess in distress, ignore him and expect him to continue wanting to be your punching bag,” he brushed his hair away from his face; his eyes were wide and a little bit deranged. “It doesn’t work like that.”

“Are you still moping over the mistletoe, Oliver?” I asked, feeling like my intestines were twisting and turning into a very elaborate Celtic knot.

“What am I supposed to think?” he punched the metal locker door before hissing in pain. “You run away and come to _my_ house, Sarah,” he said, dipping his voice low. His breath hit my face like a warm front after a long winter. My heart was throbbing in my throat. “Then you get yourself injured and it is _Pucey_ who gets to be with you and I-”

“Oliver, I-” I began by opening my mouth, then closing it. What could I say? It’s not like I wanted to run away to his house (or attempt to snog him). I didn’t want to be in this situation, facing him like this when I had a bleeding _betrothed_ trying to break our engagement inside the castle.

I most certainly didn’t want to notice how his flushed cheeks made his eyes appear browner, or how handsome he looked with his wet hair. I didn’t want to dry it off simply because I was jealous of the water droplets falling down and running all the way down his face, his throat… Merlin, I didn’t want to fancy him when I couldn’t have him.

I lifted a finger to brush his damp fringe aside. His eyes darted towards my hand, following the movement like he would a Quaffle. I gasped when his hand cupped my waist, pulling me closer. He smelled like soap and freshness, and -

He closed the gap before I could, his lips crushing against mine, pushing me against the wall as his hands took control of my waist and hips. I clung to his neck, pulling his head down, nibbling his lower lip as his hands travelled up and down my torso. My tongue brushed against his lips, and I felt him inhale sharply. I felt dizzy, and I tangled my fingers in his hair as he deepened the kiss.

I breathed into his warmth, into that sense of security and need he always emanated. He made my knees feel weak and wobbly, my head swarm and the voices in it quieted down. And I hated him for it; I hated that the effect he had on me as much as I craved it.

Just when I was starting to accept that I fancied the bloke, his hands left my waist and he tore his face away. My head bumped against the metal locker door, the hollow sound echoing in the room. A blast of cold air hit me like a slap, and the only thing I could hear was water running down.

 


	21. Fancy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Care for some tea? I just nicked it from the kitchens. I figured you’d be hungry after all the hard work,” I looked over my shoulder. He was standing akimbo, looking at my clean windows with a knowing smirk. “It is a beautiful view after all.”
> 
> “They are quite tall windows, Wood, they take time,” I hissed, throwing the dirty rag at him, which he caught.
> 
> “I wasn’t talking about the windows,” he replied.

## 

I should consider giving lesbianism a serious thought; it was becoming quite clear that men and I simply weren’t meant to be. How else could you explain why an adolescent male would run off in the middle of a snogging session as if he were being chased by a band of enraged goblins?

Or perhaps Wood just discovered he leans a little too much to the same-sex side. You could also argue that perhaps I pushed him too much towards that side. Otherwise there is no way in which to make sense as to why I was still standing against the sodding wall while the pompous arse is taking a shower!

I blinked for a few moments, wondering why he needed a shower in the first place. He had just come out of it when I saw him, less than a half hour ago.

Plick, plock; plick, plock, came the distant sound of running water from another room, a separate world.

“He’s so dead,” I whispered to the empty room. Rolling up my sleeves, I marched towards the bloody showers to give the git a piece of my mind. “Wood, get you sorry wet arse out of that shower, I have some strangling to do!”

No response other than the endless flow of water. Hot anger boiled beneath my skin to the point that I even ignored the fact that my favourite (leather) Mary-Jane’s were getting soaked. “You prat, if you care for your ability to ride a broom I suggest you get out of that shower!”

“Sarah,” came the muffled voice. It was hard to hear him over the ‘plick, plock; plick, plock’ of the shower. “Just leave. I don’t want to talk about this now.”

An animalistic growl escaped my throat. Leave? _Just leave…?_ “Oh, where is my wand!” Furiously, I began searching for it amidst my robes with the perfectly good intention of blasting that sodding door over, and hopefully causing some permanent brain damage in the process. Aha!

“Reducto!” I screamed; the blast hit the wooden door with a deafening sound similar to that of a thousand bones breaking at once. For a split second I thought it worked.

Then my back hit the cold stone wall with an unfriendly sound; my wand landed a few feet away from me. I grabbed my head with both my hands to stop the world from spinning. My head felt like a bloody mountain troll had hit with his clubs. I could feel an upcoming bump.

“ _Don’t_ try that again,” I heard him say. “The doors are charmed. The counter spell will only get nastier.”

Now he tells me.

Scowling, I forced myself to get off the floor and picked up my wand. I had no intention of trying the door again; I was stupid but even I had my limits. Instead, I brushed some of the soot and water of my robes; stray hairs fell right on my eyes, blocking my vision - I didn’t even want to look at what state my shoes were in. My eyes stung from the floating dust, and I could barely contain my tears. I took a deep breath, trying to steady my racing heart, but I could feel the contractions of my chest. My hands rushed to my lips to stop any potential sobbing from making a sound. The last thing I needed was for him to know that it hurt.

All was silent, except for that sodding water. Plick, plock; plick, plock

“Fine,” I said when I was sure my voice would be steady. “Have it your sodding way, Wood. It’s not like it matters.”

Plick, plock; plick, plock.

How I despised that sound.

* * *

 

The day of the Slytherin vs. Ravenclaw match was sunny but cold. I had breakfast with Adrian at the Slytherin table, a bit apart from the rest of the team. Flint had abandoned all research into our little problem to drill his team into perfect form: they needed to defeat the blue birds to make it into the final, and Flint was obsessed with winning the cup. Time seemed to speed up. We were already almost at the end of January, and had made no progress into breaking our engagement. I had skipped all of my defence against the dark arts classes to work on it, and would be paying them by having to do detention during the game.

I don’t care what they say; Lupin is far more evil than Snape.

“Break a leg,” I waved at Adrian as Flint grabbed him by the collar and pushed him out of the Great Hall. He threw me a sympathetic smile before he disappeared. I stayed in my seat, moping over porridge while the rest of the school exited. With heavy feet, I dragged myself up to the sixth floor, where Lupin had found a delightfully dirty room for me to clean – sans magic.

He was looking out the window when I arrived. I knocked on the door, and he turned around, a weary smile on his face. “Good morning, Miss Montieth,” he said, beckoning me forward. I eyed the room apprehensively; it was big and enveloped in a haze of dust, visible in the early morning sun. There was enough junk in here to last a lifetime worth of cleaning. Bookcases empty of books had been filled with all sorts of random metal and wood objects, many of which I didn’t recognize. Decrepit old moss green curtains hang loosely from some of the windows, the others had fully fallen to the floor. There were cobwebs in every available surface. Brilliant.“I’m glad to see you could make it today.”

I grunted in response. Lupin chuckled. “In case you haven’t noticed, this room looks south. I daresay you’ll be able to keep track of the game as you work diligently,” my ears perked up and I approached the windows. Indeed, they offered a magnificent view of the Quidditch pitch – if it wasn’t because the glass was fully covered in a thick layer of dust. “Perhaps you should begin with the windows,” he said, nodding towards the pitch which now showed the Ravenclaw team warming up. “I shall take your wand and return it in a few hours. Is there anything else you need?”

How about some strong poison? “I’ll be fine, thank you professor.”  
Lupin nodded one more time and grabbed the wand I reluctantly offered him before leaving me. I exhaled, and removed my robe and placed it gingerly on top of an old desk which was missing a leg. I rolled up my sleeves and grabbed a clean towel and an empty bucket. There was a sink in an adjacent room, which I used to fill out the bucket making sure to evict a family of spiders that had taken residence there before pouring in the water. I found some old soap on a shelf and grabbed it too.

I moved back towards the room, careful not to spill water on myself, and left the bucket near the windows. The game had already started, and I was delighted to hear Jordan’s voice commentating.

_“And penalty awarded to the Slytherin beater for excessive use of elbows-“ I rolled my eyes, probably Derrick. “And Captain Davies takes the penalty! Prepares, shoots and argh! Keeper Bletchely blokes, Quaffle in possession of chaser Pucey!”_

I beat my fist in the air as Adrian scored the first goal of the match, soaking my face with dirty water in the process. I wiped it off and continued scrubbing. I could now distinguish the different blobs of colour that were the two teams, even if I couldn’t identify the players.

“ _And Stretton scores! Twenty – ten, Slytherin is barely in the lead! Ravenclaw is not going down without a fierce fight!_ ” I scoffed, extending my arm to reach the upper part of the window. When that didn’t work, I grabbed an old chair to stand on, and continued.

The game was a close call, and I could tell that Flint’s strategy was complete obliteration. Half an hour in, Bole had aimed a bludger straight at the seeker, Chang, breaking her elbow. Madam Hooch had called it a foul, and Davies had scored the penalty. But the Slytherin fans didn’t seem to preoccupied by this, they were cheering at the fact that Chang now played with a severe injure to her right elbow.

That should give the silly ferret all the help he needs to catch the snitch.

The windows were almost completely clean, and Slytherin was still in the lead by only ten points, when I heard the door behind me creak open. I looked over my shoulder, expecting to see Professor Lupin coming to relieve me of my torment (well, it wasn’t _that_ bad – cleaning is always relaxing), when I saw Wood walk in, a tray with a kettle and some biscuits balancing precariously on one hand.

I threw him my iciest glare, before returning full swing into cleaning a spot that was already clean just as Ravenclaw scored. Damnation.

“Malfoy better catch the bleeding snitch soon, or this game will go on forever,” I heard him say, the unmistakable sound of china hitting wood reaching my ears. “Care for some tea? I just nicked it from the kitchens. I figured you’d be hungry after all the hard work,” I looked over my shoulder. He was standing akimbo, looking at my clean windows with a knowing smirk. “It is a beautiful view after all.”

“They are quite tall windows, Wood, they take _time_ ,” I hissed, throwing the dirty rag at him, which he caught.

“I wasn’t talking about the windows,” he replied, letting the rag fall on the ground and grabbing a chocolate biscuit. “Did you know standing on a chair makes your legs look as if they were a mile long?”

“ _Burrow dives beneath Pucey, climbs back up shoo- ahh that must have hurt!_ ”

My cheeks felt warm, and I cursed the day I decided to wear a bleeding skirt to detention. “Sod off, Wood.”

“Charming, really,” he said, shaking his head with silent laughter. “Why don’t you come down? The tea is going to get cold.”

I stayed put, trying to pull my skirt down a few inches. “What do you want, Wood? More importantly, how did you know I was here?”

“I noticed you weren’t amongst the green sea, and happened to bump into Professor Lupin. He let it slip you were doing detention for missing so many classes.”

Definitely more evil than Snape.

“I brought all sorts of pastries, chocolate éclairs, chocolate gateau, jam doughnuts…” I threw him second dirty rag I had, and squealed with glee when it hit him straight in the face. “Funny.”

I smirked, showing him my white pearls before going back to cleaning – only to realize I was out of rags. I turned around to stare at Woody, who was looking back at me with a triumphant expression. “Now will you come down?”

I considered my options. I was in this situation simply because I had refused to sit next to Wood for three consecutive hours after our little… exchange. And now the sodding git wanted me to have _tea_ with him.

“Why?” I asked, eyes narrowed, arms crossed tightly across my chest. Wood rolled his eyes and walked towards me. I moved my feet back on instinct, losing my footing as he tried to grab me by the ankle. One my heels caught in a crack on the chair and my body rocked forward, my arms wailed uselessly at my side. And Wood caught me before I broke my head on the ground.

“That’s not quite what I had in mind when I told you to get down,” he said, struggling to keep his balance and holding my body up so my feet dangled. “But I suppose you’ve always liked drama,” I hit him straight on the back of the head. He grunted and put me down. “That was uncalled for.”

“You are right. I should have dug my pointy shoes right in your private parts,” I replied, and walked away from him and towards those chocolate éclairs. Jordan had just announced another penalty for Ravenclaw. Slytherin was now down by twenty points.

“So you do like chocolate,” I heard Wood say alarmingly close to me. “I’ll have to keep that in mind for the future.”

“What future?” I bristled, turning on my heel and coming to a stop, my nose a mere two inches away from him. My body tensed as my heartbeat sped up, and the voices in my head urged me to stick the éclair into his eye sockets.

If Wood’s smirk was anything to go by, the git was enjoying himself. “You’ve been avoiding me like a herd of angry hippogriffs, again,” he said matter-of-factly, reaching around me to grab a jelly doughnut, and making me choke with my own saliva. Times like this, I really despised myself.

“Wrong, Woody,” I said, taking a step backwards and hitting my tailbone against the table. “Based on your previous behaviour, I was not under the impression you wanted me anywhere near you.”

A quick look of discomfort crossed his face, but he masked it quickly enough. I solidified my features into those of indifference, while my legs were as wobbly as the jelly in his doughnut. “That’s what I’ve wanted to talk to you about,” he said slowly, waiting for my reaction. I gave him none. Sighing, he let his treat fall back on the table and pushed his fringe back. “The other day in the locker room when you kissed me and I-”

“Run away like you were being chased by you-know-who himself?” I supplied, just as Derrick knocked Strutton down, allowing Adrian to score.

“-I wouldn’t put it like that,” he shut up when he noticed my glare and took a step backwards. “What did you want me to do? This whole mess is just too much for a bloke to take.”

I rolled my eyes; Gryffindors sucked at excuses. “What mess, _exactly_? I always figured that snogging someone in an empty locker room was a pretty clear message, but if you need translation-”

“A clear message?” he huffed, throwing his arms in the air. “You are about as clear as Binns lecturing about goblin wars.” I threw my chocolate éclair down on the table and stamped my feet.

“And you make as much sense as Trelawney ranting about the full moon!”

He took a step forward, placing both hands on the table, on either side of my hips. “You are the one who snogs me, asks me to play detective,  and _then_ avoids me. I don’t know if anyone ever told you this, but that kind of behaviour is not clear; it should be treated with mood stabilizer potions.”

I rolled my eyes, inching my head backwards to put some distance. Mood stabilizer potions, me? Please! I’m as sane as your regular house elf! “Says the bloke who runs the _shower_ after being touched by a girl!” I shrieked, my eyes widening and my nails digging into my palms. “Were you scared you’d get cooties if you stayed in that room long enough?”

“Well maybe if you hadn’t avoided me for the past-”

“Oh yes, blame it all on me, twist and turn the tale so that I look-”

“-few days you would know that-”

“-like the evil witch in the story of course-”

I saw him shut his eyes before his lips landed on mine. I was halfway through cursing him, when I suddenly lost all oxygen. As soon as it had happened, he had pulled back again. “Will you stuff it for one bleeding second?” he said, hitting the wooden desk with one hand. My heart was beating loud enough in my throat, I was certain he could hear it over Jordan’s shouts that Malfoy had (somehow) caught the snitch.

I rolled my eyes. “If you think you can bully me like that, you are wrong.”

It was Wood’s turn to roll his eyes. “It wasn’t meant to be presumptuous, it was meant to get me a moment’s worth of silence to tell you I fancy you!”

The only sound that could be heard was the distant cheer of the victorious team. I had no clue by how much we had won; the score was suddenly not important. All I could focus on were Wood’s brown eyes, slightly widened; his cheeks had the tinniest of pinks tints, and his breathing was slow and deep. I was conscious that my own breathing was as erratic as a-

“You fancy me?” I asked when I recovered my voice. Wood nodded, his tongue darting outwards to moisture his lips.

“Merlin if I know how, when or why,” he said, his voice low and husky, sending shivers up my spine. “I should be focusing only on Quidditch – birds are too much trouble, _you_ particularly, but I just can’t seem to get you out of my head.”

I laughed, slow and bitter. “Tell me about it. I have not time or patience for _you_ , hell I can barely stand you half the time and yet-” he leaned forward, his eyes asking for permission, before gently placing his lips over mine. His hands grabbed my waist, pulling me away from the table and towards him, as my arms wrapped themselves around his neck and broad shoulders. This kiss was nothing like the ones before; it wasn’t awkward and it wasn’t frenzied but it still managed to leave me breathless when we pulled apart.

“This is so messed up,” I muttered with my eyes still closed.

“I know,” his breath tickled my neck and I chortled. He pulled away and stared at me.

“Blimey,” I  pulled his head away from my neck to look at him squarely. “You totally planned this, didn’t you?” I cocked my head to the side, pointing at the tea. His cheeks reddened and I burst into giggles. “And it did not go the way you wanted it to.”

“Woman, I am missing a Quidditch match to tell you this, a match that could define my chances for the cup-”

“- _And_ you wrote it in your Quidditch plays notebook, didn’t you?” he bit his lip. “And you say _I_ need mood stabilizing potions.”

Wood (should I start calling him Oliver?) rolled his eyes. “What are we going to do about this?” he asked, pushing some hair behind my ear. “I have Quidditch to concentrate on and-” I placed a finger on his lips and removed his hands from my hips. Making sure I wouldn’t sit on any éclairs, I propped myself up on the desk, wrapping my legs lightly around his torso.

“I also have about a million things to do, Oliver,” I said, putting my hands on his shoulders and ignoring the tempting way in which he was looking at me. “And things aren’t exactly going my way at the moment.”

“This is really the worst timing for a relationship.”

I snorted. “I wouldn’t go as far as to call this a relationship,” Wo-Oliver’s face went from preoccupied to confused faster than snitch. “We need ground rules.”

“Rules?”

I nodded. “Rule number one, this is not a relationship. It’s more of a-”

“Illicit affair?”

“-pseudo-friendship with benefits,” I finished. He seemed to consider it for a long moment, but then nodded. “Rule number two, for the sake of both of our sanities, we keep it between us,” he nodded again, faster this time. “And rule number three, it can be called off at any time, by either party. Simple?”

“It’ll make life easier, until we leave Hogwarts,” yes right, until you go off to become a famous Quidditch player surrounded by a gazillion fans and I- well, I wasn’t really in the mood to think exactly where _I’d_ be at the end of the school year. But since this was no real relationship, there wasn’t any need for me to speak out my thoughts, so instead I leant in and captured his lips with my own.

* * *

 

It was almost dinner time when Professor Lupin returned. I had managed to clean only a quarter of the room (not counting the windows), since Oliver had stayed until half-past three, when we heard footsteps nearby. It was Gwen, who was upset enough about Ravenclaw being out of the league she wanted to help me clean, never knowing she had disrupted the best snog session I’d had in… a very long time.

“It seems we have done quite a bit of progress here, Miss Montieth,” Lupin said appreciatively, running a finger through an especially dusty bookcase.

“Yes, well, I’ve been working like a house elf,” I said with a shrug, half-heartedly wiping a desk. I knew Lupin was looking over at me just as well as I knew that he didn’t believe me.

“In that case, I hope you’ve learned your lesson Miss Montieth,” he handed me back my wand, which I put in my robe’s pockets. “I hope to see you in class this Friday,” I nodded and wiped my hands on my quilt. I walked out of the room, quietly, grabbing my robe. “Oh, and Miss Montieth,” I heard him call as I had reached the doorstep. “I don’t mean to intrude, but next time you make secret arrangements, I suggest you do them in a room in which I didn’t put a listening spell on.”

My face blanked as all blood flowed to my pinky toes. “Professor I-“ I stammered to come up with a decent lie, but he lifted his hand, a good hearted smile on his lips.

“Don’t fret over it. I turned it off before I heard too much. Just,” he seemed to hesitate for a moment before finalizing his thoughts. “I hope you know what you are doing. Secrets can destroy people.”

 


	22. Involved

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grinning, he leaned in and captured my lips, his hands back on my low back. "You are quite something," he muttered as he pushed me slowly against the couch. I wrapped one leg around his, his hand darting towards the exposed skin as if it were an incoming Quaffle. I gasped as he began tickling my core, and I started squirming beneath him. "Stop!" I yelled, giggling incessantly as his hands found my most ticklish spots. "Oliver I'm serious! It tickles!"

Having a secret affair was so much fun. In fact, I don't think I enjoyed the many secret passageways and hidden broom closets Hogwarts had to offer until now. History of magic was history – in the weeks leading up to the Ravenclaw-Gryffindor game I think we skipped every single class. We had to. He trained like the obsessed psychotic bloke he was, and I was buried in magical law books most afternoons. Our schedules really didn't allow us much free time to enjoy. He also had a knack not only for snatching me in between classes for a quick perk-me-up, but he was also quite good at sending me ridiculously corny things in the morning. So we did the best we could.

I was actually thinking that when I managed to weasel my way out of the Flint situation, going steady with Oliver for real could be a realistic idea.

When the owl post arrived one morning, I was going over the corrections that Penelope had made to my latest Arithmancy assignment, when two pieces of parchment fell on top porridge. "Bugger," I muttered as I removed them from my plate and cleaned them. One of the letters was from Oliver, the other from William.

I opened Oliver's first. It was a note from yesterday's Daily Prophet detailing how the Harpies lost to the Tornados (the Tornados!). He had scribbled the words "Told you the Harpies are lousy," below. He'll get a slap for that one. Then a make up-kiss. Merlin, I loved those.

I turned my attention to William's owl, and pinched Flint in the arm to get him to stop talking with Willow and pay attention. I read the entire thing quickly before shoving it beneath his face. He stared at me as if I had just told him Christmas had come early. "Don't get too excited, Flint," I said, putting some jam into a piece of toast. "You might just piss your pants."

"Don't stop acting like a shrew, Montieth," he retorted, "I might just start thinking you want to go through with this ma-" I slapped both hands on his mouth, and glared at him.

"Not in front of the children, Flint," I said through gritted teeth. He swatted my hands away and turned back to the parchment. "This is fantastic, this is gold-"

I rolled my eyes, finished my toast, and jumped to my feet, pocketing Oliver's note. "Hurry up now, we'll be late for charms," I said, hitting Flint on the back of his head a bit harder than I intended to. Surprisingly, he didn't say anything, but followed Willow and I up the stairs towards Flitwick's room.

I grabbed Adrian by his robes and manoeuvred Flint away from where he usually sat with Willow and Darlene, and pushed towards a secluded corner. Today we were practicing the animating charm – getting inanimate objects to come to life for specific purposes. Last class, some Hufflepuff had ended up animating all of the chairs so that they chased us out of the room.

Flitwick told us to practice with goblets this time, and get them to tap on the table. "Overdid it with the coffee this morning, didn't you?" Adrian asked, throwing his bag on top of the desk. Apparently, Adrian had played a fantastic game against Ravenclaw and had been behaving like an insufferable snob ever since.

"No, I don't drink that nasty stuff," I replied, imitating him and throwing my bag on top of my desk. "I got an owl from William – with news."

His ears perked up and he leaned in; Flint passed him the now crumpled piece of parchment. I went to the front to get us our goblets. Oliver was talking animatedly with a fellow Hufflepuff girl. I walked right next to him to retrieve the three goblets I needed, and he pinched me on the side when no one was watching. "Childish little-" I muttered as I made my way back, my cheeks struggling not to break into a mad grin.

Adrian had finished reading the letter and looked like he was thinking, you never know with Adrian. "So?" I asked, distributing the three goblets. "Did that brilliant little mind of yours come up with a fantastic solution?"

He scrunched up his eyebrows. "Let me get this straight – because Nicholas touched your hand when you were about to sign-"

"The contract got recorded as valid, but tampered with."

"Meaning that before it comes into full effect," e.i., The day of the wedding, "all of the clauses loosen up," Flint finished. Adrian nodded, his eyes darting back and forth across the parchment.

"It still doesn't give us much option, does it?" he said as the sounds of off-rhythm tapping reached our ears. "Your hands are pretty much tied regardless – you'd still need an extreme circumstance for Flint to be able to call it off-"

"Or some kind of other catastrophe or previous accord," I finished, tapping my and Adrian's goblet with my wand and making them do tango. "I never said Nicholas's stupidity solved the problem, I just said it made it possible to break." But Adrian wasn't listening; his eyes had gone glassy and his jaw was clenched hard. I looked up, and my eyes met those of Abigail Williams. A cold shiver ran down my spine. Just how much had she heard?

"You seem a lot chirpier lately," Gwen said, pushing some books away to make space in the heavily crowded table. I looked up from my homework, having decided that I needed to pass potions after all, but didn't reply. "Fine, be that way." We worked in silence for a few minutes before Gwen spoke again. "You know who else is looking a whole lot chirpier?" I tried to ignore her. "Oliver," I choked on my own saliva. "So they are connected, then," her eyes were twinkling evilly.

"Whatever gave you that impression?" I asked in between choking. She just arched an eyebrow.

"Nothing really, you're quite clever at hiding your steps. Although, Adrian has noticed that something is amiss, mainly because I mentioned it to him but-"

"When did you talk to Adrian?" I asked, suspicious. Gwen may only be thirteen, but Adrian had no moral code that I've ever heard of.

She shrugged and opened her ink bottle. "Probably one afternoon while you were off snogging your secret boyfriend-"

"Ptff."

"-Instead of figuring out how to break your not-so-secret engagement. Tell me, does Oliver know about that?" I was certain a bucket of stones had been unceremoniously dropped inside my stomach. "I'll take that as a no," Gwen said, eyeing me carefully. "Lisa, just don't break his heart, ok? He actually has one and that is not too common in blokes nowadays."

"Gryffindors get all the luck," Adrian muttered as we climbed up the stairs of the bleachers, as far away from most Slytherins as we could. Despite the fact that it was a perfectly fine day for a thrilling Quidditch match, it seemed only Ravenclaws and Gryffindors had showed up. There were a handful of Hufflepuffs here and there, and almost no Slytherins. Flint had had a row with Willow at breakfast, and we hadn't seen any of them coming up. The other chaser, Montague, was here with a few fellow fifth years; while Darlene and Terrence were nowhere to be seen.

I didn't complain. The time I liked my fellow Slytherins the most was when I didn't have to deal with them. "Playing with a bleeding Firebolt in the team," he shook his head and I snickered, clutching his arm. That morning, when Potter had walked in carrying his brand new Firebolt Adrian had gone nutters. He'd grabbed me by the hand, yanking on my sleeve and pulled me all the way down to the Gryffindor table. Gwen had somehow ended up next to us as well.

"Oi! No Slytherins allowed!" Francis had yelled, zealously guarding the Firebolt like a dragon. Oliver sent me a joking warning glance, which I replied with a nasty smirk. "We don't want no sabotaging"

"The only thing that's going to get sabotaged is your brain if you don't scoop over, Francis," Gwen replied, staring at her brother rather pointedly. Francis opened his mouth to reply, but Gwen beat him by ignoring him. "Harry, can I see it? A Firebolt! That's brilliant!" She grabbed the broom with the care you'd give a religious idol.

I watched with an amused smirk as she and Adrian chatted Potter up, his ginger friend keeping an eye on Adrian's wand so he wouldn't try anything funny. "So, Sarah, want to bet on the game?" Oliver said, pushing some bacon on his chasers.

I rolled my eyes. Typical. "Two galleons Ravenclaw kicks your sorry arse?"

His hands darted to his heart in mock heartbreak. "I'll take you up on that, except that I'll up the stakes," he said wriggling his eyebrows. Well aware that Gwen's ears were perked up and listening, I hastily threw my hair behind my shoulder and pushed Adrian away from the table.

"A Firebolt…" he kept muttering until I shoved my elbow into his ribs. "Crazy lady, why did you hit me for?" he asked, and I pointed to the pitch where both teams were already assembled. "Ravenclaw doesn't stand a chance…"

I rolled my eyes. Blokes.

When the game finished (Gryffindor won) Adrian and I walked over to the common room. He mentioned something about chess, but I came up with the worst excuse I could muster and run out of the room and back towards the locker rooms, where I waited patiently for all but one of the Gryffindor players to exit. The Weasley twins were chanting at the top of their lungs, running after the chasers who kept laughing despite giving them death threats. When at last Potter leftcarrying his new broom like it were liquid gold, I went inside.

The door to the Captain's office was ajar, so I walked right up to it. Looking through the slight opening of the door, I saw Oliver pouring over parchment. I rolled my eyes. He's the only person obsessed enough to win the bleeding match and still go over everything that went wrong afterwards. Deciding that it would not do, I slammed the door open and walked in.

Oliver looked up, his face going from alarmed to amused in seconds. His eyes travelled up and down my figure, and my self-satisfied smirk increased. I knew that little black dress I bought for Hallowe'en was a solid investment. Oliver got up from behind his desk and walked over to me. "What's with the dress?" he whispered in my ear, tickling it as he kissed the earlobe.

"Well," I said, stifling my inner need to giggle as his hand began moving up and down my sides. "You said you wanted to up the stakes?"

He stopped at once, his hands still firmly placed on my hips, but now they were used to put some distance. "Sarah," he said, looking as serious as if I had said the Firebolt was a lousy broom. "We've only been dating for a few weeks I-"

I rolled my eyes, silencing him with a rather chaste kiss. "One, we aren't dating; two, I wasn't talking about that, but I'm glad to know how quickly your mind jumped to that conclusion." A look of relief passed over his face as his cheeks coloured.

"Oh."

I shook my head and took his hands away from my body; he stood on the spot like a marionette waiting for his puppeteer. I grabbed his hand and led him to the old, red velvet couch that was against a wall. The captain's office was small and squared; it had one sofa, one desk, two chairs, a bookcase with a broken cabinet, and a very ugly rug.

I sat down on the sofa, pulling Oliver beside me. He still looked stupidly bewildered, and I surprised myself by thinking it was ridiculously cute. I never thought Terrence was cute. "Despite popular belief, I'm not that easy," I said, leaning in to kiss his cheek. "It doesn't mean we can't have some fun."

Grinning, he leaned in and captured my lips, his hands back on my low back. "You are quite something," he muttered as he pushed me slowly against the couch. I wrapped one leg around his, his hand darting towards the exposed skin as if it were an incoming Quaffle. I gasped as he began tickling my core, and I started squirming beneath him. "Stop!" I yelled, giggling incessantly as his hands found my most ticklish spots. "Oliver I'm serious! It tickles!"  
He was laughing on top of me, "Does it now? Well then you should have said so," I began punching his upper back, trying to get him off of me; breathing was hard as I panted in between giggles.

"Oliver!" we both stopped moving, his eyes searching mine.

"That wasn't me," I muttered as the door to the locker room closed with a bang. Oliver jumped off of me, and tripped over the ugly carpet, landing hard against the wooden floor.

We heard footsteps. "Oliver, is that you?"

He was on his feet a second later, his eyes darting wildly across the room. The captain's office had a window on the door, which was normally covered with a faded beige curtain but now stood open. Cursing, he rushed to it and pulled the curtain close. "Abigail," he mouthed, looking at me. I straightened up and pulled some of my dress down, cursing all the deities in the heavens. He made a hand signal to tell me not to move and a second later he was out of the door, closing it tight behind him.

I heard him walk towards the main portion of the locker room, where the actual lockers and benches were. There were two medium-sized, squared windows also covered in the same poor-looking draperies. I removed my shoes and walked barefooted to one of them. With my wand, I cast a disillusionment charm on myself so I could sneak next to the curtain and not be seen.

"Abigail, what are you doing here?" I saw Oliver walk up to her, trying to rearrange his shirt and failing miserably at not looking like someone who got caught in the middle of something. I rolled my eyes at his ineptitude; once he got rid of her, I'd have to scold him for that.

"What were you doing?"

Oliver stopped trying to tuck his shirt inside his trousers and looked up. "I should be asking that question, don't you think?"

Good one, Oliver, good one. Rhetorical questions always work, I thought with a mental eye roll.

Williams stood her ground, her hands on her hips and a suspicious look on her face. "You were with some girl."

"I wasn't," Oliver replied too quickly. "And even if I was, it is none of your concern."

I saw Williams take a step forward, "You are a horrible liar," she said, putting a hand on his shoulder and making me bristle.

"I should have learned from you, shouldn't I?" he replied, removing her hand as if it smelled. Williams looked unfazed.

"We need to talk."  
"I think your diary did enough talking as is, thank you," I was surprised by the amount of acid Oliver had placed into his tone. He was good at being angry at people, but not at being resentful.

"Oliver, you don't understand-"

"How I could trust you? Yeah, I happen to wonder that as well."

Williams' hand darted forward to touch him again, but she seemed to think better of it and clutched it against her chest. "What I wrote… it was childish and mean spirited and-"

"And it doesn't really matter," Oliver said, raising his voice and tightening his knuckles. "What you wrote about I suck in the sack doesn't matter Abigail; it's what you did that matters."

It might have been a trick of the lightening, but I could have sworn Williams had tears nestled up in her eyes. "I'm so sorry, Oliver, I should have never-"

"Cheated on me?" he finished, taking a step backwards. I could see the tension in the muscles of his back and neck, ready to pop up. He began to pace in small circles around the room. "Abigail, you lied to me. All the time we were together, you were shagging and snogging at least three other guys and I-" Williams had grabbed his arm, forcing him to stop walking. There was no mistaking the blatant tears in her eyes.

"I was scared Oliver."  
He snorted. "Of what?"

"Of-of us!" she stammered, pouting her lips and letting her tears roll down her well-sculpted face. I bit my tongue not to rush out and give her a piece of my mind. How dare she touch my bloke? Well, he wasn't exactly my bloke, but… "What I felt for you Oliver was too much, I cared for you too much and it scared me."

"It scared you so much you just had to go to two other bloke's arms, huh?"

Williams sniffed, "The muggle… my mum always wanted us to be together, you know how hard she is – she doesn't like magic, when I told her I was dating a boy from school-"

But Oliver didn't want to hear her. He disentangled his arm from her and pushed her away gently. "I don't really care to hear it."

"But you have to!" she wailed, throwing herself at him again, yanking at his arm to force him to look at her. "It was pretend to date the muggle or I wasn't allowed back at Hogwarts. And you had broken up with me at the time."

"What about Pucey then?" Oliver asked, avoiding her glance. "Were you coerced into shagging him too, this time while you were with me?"

I narrowed my eyebrows. I didn't remember showcasing Williams and Adrian's morbid affair. How did Oliver find out? "He's a stinking Slytherin – you know how they are, like snakes, they slither in and before you know it they are wrapped around you and suffocating you. I never wanted to hurt you."

Oliver stopped trying to pry her hands from his arm; he turned his head to look at her and I was biting my nails, wishing I could see the expression on his face. I suddenly couldn't feel my legs anymore. "I loved you Abi, Merlin, I'm still not over you. But you can't just come back here and tell me that you are sorry. Sorry doesn't begin to cut it."

Williams broke into full swing sobs, her hands trying to cover her face as Oliver looked on. I realised I had been holding my breath when my head began spinning and it hurt. Merlin,

Williams broke into full swing sobs, her hands trying to cover her face as Oliver looked on. I realised I had been holding my breath when my head began spinning and it hurt. Merlin, I still think I am half in love with you.

Did he mean that, or was that just his Gryffindor rashness?

"Is it Montieth?" Williams asked when she had calmed herself down. My spine straightened at the mention of my name, my heart began pounding on my chest. "Is it because you are with her now, that you won't even accept my apology?"

"I don't know what you are talking about."

"Yes you do!" Williams shouted all semblance of a broken-hearted girl gone and replaced with an angry banshee. "I saw you – during charms, pinching her side; the stupid little notes she's been receiving every morning, the way you messed up your counter jinx in defence against the dark arts because you were staring at her!" I assumed Oliver's face remained motionless, or perhaps it showed surprise, I couldn't tell. All I could see was that his shoulders had dropped, and his usual strong posture was hunching down.

"Sarah is only a friend, Abigail," he said seriously, placing his hand paternally on her shoulders. "She's always been just a friend and she'll always remain that – despite what you may think."

Williams shook as she cried before pushing Oliver's hands away. "She's lying to you," she said, poison slipping through with each letter. "But I'll be here when she breaks your heart," she turned around and run towards the door, closing it behind her with a dead bang. Oliver and I stood in our respective places, neither one moving. I don't think my legs would have been capable of moving even if my brain could have thought about it.

Everything was just spinning; every word Oliver had said was cutting through my character like a paper cut, elegantly stinging.

Merlin, I still think I am half in love with you.

She's always been just a friend and she'll always remain that.

One, we aren't dating

The sound of the door closing got me out of revelries. The lights flickered for a moment, before going off, and the echoes of his leaving thundered in my ears.

I returned to the common room just before curfew. It had taken me some time to accept the fact that Oliver had left – and had forgotten about me. It had then taken me even more time to get my sorry arse out of his office and down the stairs. I had lurked in the confines of the dungeons for a good hour, not daring to speak or scream in case I collapsed into Williams-like-sobs. Somehow, I still thought I had more grace than she did when crying for a bloke.

It didn't make it any less painful.

When I returned, it was because I had finally talked myself out of my own hellhole. Love is only a joke, and I should know by now that I am above that. It was stupid to dream.

"There you are! You've been gone for ages!" Adrian's voice brought me back to reality. My feet had made it back to the common room, but I had no recollection of ever leaving the locker rooms. Not bothering to even look at me twice, he grabbed me by the shoulders and steered me towards a corner where Flint sat, looking as giddy as if Gryffindor had been. He looked up when we approached, and I was greeted to the first true smile I've ever seen on him.

"We've found a fool proof way to break the engagement."


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If I'd chosen to focus on it, I could have felt his heart beating steadily through the fabric of his robes. My hand lingered on his chest for a second, before I willed myself to pull it away. "We aren't together, Oliver," I said, my right hand feeling the wooden door for a doorknob. He didn't reply and I twisted the knob open, hastily exiting the overcrowded broom closet.

"How?" I croaked letting Adrian push me down on the loveseat. Flint passed me a piece of parchment which looked like it had been smeared in butterbeer.

"You probably don't remember this, Lizzie," Adrian said, sitting behind me and straightening the parchment over my lap. "You signed it at Hogsmeade, but you were bladdered so you really didn't know what you were doing."

Indeed, I had no recollection of ever signing anything let alone a magical agreement. My eyes scanned the document quickly, eating up each word as if I were famished.

I, Sarah Elizabeth Montieth, agree upon this day of October 31st, 1993, to enter a bet with Marcus Nero Flint and Adrian Octavio Flint. If I manage to get (here Adrian's handwriting took over mine) Oliver Patrick Wood to take me to the Midsummer's Day ball then …

I squinted my eyes, trying to see if there was anything else written, but I couldn't see anything, except for signatures and dates. "You are missing half of the bet!"

Flint rolled his eyes. "We couldn't think of anything good enough to do if you managed to win, so we left it blank. But we signed."

"So?" I asked, looking at him over the incomplete pact.

"If you cared to use your brain, you'll see that we can complete it however we like. We can just write down that if you managed to convince Captain Kitty to be your date for the ball – then the marriage agreement would be rendered null."

I look at me skeptically. "And that will work?"

He nodded. "We've been doing research," Adrian said standing up and passing me some books. "Because your arrangement is on shaky ground a previous contract could annul it; and since this one was never finalized-"

"All we need to do is complete it," I finished slowly, comprehension dawning on me like a bucket of cold water. "And if I don't manage to complete the bet? That part wasn't written in, either."

They both shrugged. "We can put whatever nonsense we want there. Originally we were thinking of making you do something humiliating, like stripping in the common room or proposing to Snape, but at this point I don't think any one of us cares."

"Why did you even come up with this?" I asked, looking pointedly at Adrian.

"Honestly? Because I'm messed up –and I figured it'd be fun to see you try to snatch Wood. But hey, the end justifies the means, right?"

"When they make sense, they do," I muttered, still feeling numb. My life couldn't suck more, could it? If I wanted to get rid of one bloke, I had to convince the one who saw me as only a friend to go the most waited-for event for graduating students as my date. It was rather ironic really; if I wanted a life of my own I'd had to sacrifice some choices.

"The end justifies the means," I repeated, holding my hand for Adrian to pass me ink and a quill. I dipped the quill in the bottle and quickly wrote.

…then the after mentioned Marcus Nero Flint and Sarah Elizabeth Montieth's marriage arrangement dating December 18th, 1993, will henceforth be annulled and both parties would be free of its magical bindings. If Sarah Elizabeth Montieth does not complete the assigned agreement, then the marriage contract holds still and she has to stop calling Flint a troll.

The moment the ink dried up, the parchment glowed for a few seconds before laying still. We all stared at each other. "It worked," Flint said, "Father says that when a magical contract passes successfully it always glows."

Hogsmeade was a gloomy affair. Even though Valentine's day was a good month away, it seemed couples had sprouted like weeds in spring. Finding a table at the Three Broomsticks was an ordeal in its own, since most tables (even those for four plus people) were filled with couples. I looked on as an endless amount of people took perfectly good tables all for themselves, so they could cuddle, and snog and Merlin-know what-else with my lips slightly curled over my teeth. They were so disrespectful, the lot of them.

"Come, Flint spied us a table," Adrian said, nudging me in the shoulder. I followed him, careful not to bump into too many people or table edges. At least people had muscles and quite a few layers of clothing – table edges didn't. Flint and Willow had managed to squeeze themselves (quote, scare the lights off a bunch of third years) into a table that was as far back into the pub as humanly possible.

But, my feet were sodden cold, and I wasn't one to complain. "This is ridiculous," Willow said when the lads had gone over to buy us drinks. "It isn't even February yet!"

"Quite disgusting, isn't it?" I replied, eyeing a young couple, probably no older than fourth year, throw butterbeer foam to each other in between kisses. "Nauseating."

"You've been quiet lately," Willow said, taking her coat off and rearranging her scarf so it covered her neck more fully. "Anything interesting that I should know about?"

I shook my head. "I'm surprised you have to ask; the cards haven't been too reliable have they?" Willow scoffed, arching her back and leaning against her chair. She didn't speak again until Flint put a glass of gillywater in front of her. "What's with the sobriety?" I asked, taking a long gulp of my butterbeer.

She shrugged. "We don't all have three livers like you do, Elizabeth."

Our table was the quietest in the room; perhaps because we weren't engaging in a communal snogfest or talking. Flint was fidgeting nervously in his seat, looking up every two seconds and irritating me like no tomorrow. Willow left after finishing her gillywater, saying something about needing to shop. She'd sent me a pointed look, which I ignored. My depression was beyond retail therapy, I believed. Flint left soon after, something related to Quidditch somehow.

"So," Adrian said, finishing off his red currant rum. "How does mission snatch Wood going?"

My intestines twisted into a tight knot. I hadn't spoken to Oliver since his little tet-a-tet against Williams – except when required in classes. Flint and Adrian had been breathing down my neck during the three hour test on Defence Against the Darks Arts, but it was becoming difficult to pretend. So to put it mildly, the Oliver Wood situation was going down faster than Potter confronted with Dementors. "I've been busy, haven't had much time to work on it."  
Adrian raised an eyebrow. "You only have a couple of months, Liz. There are other ways to break the contract but-"

I shut him up with a wave of my hand. "I know, Adrian. Flint would have to either impregnate a willing witch or get hit by a meteor and die. And let's face it; the meteor possibility is much more probable than someone wanting to sleep with him." He chuckled so hard, rum came out of his nostrils. I watched as another couple began holding hands and measuring ring finger widths. "Let's go for a walk, I feel claustrophobic in here."

We left the pub, making our way slowly through the forest of disgustingly happy couples and back into the mercy of the cold January wind. I buttoned up my robe and gave my scarf a tug so I could wrap it tighter around my neck. "It's odd, isn't it?" Adrian said as we walked, hands inside our robe's pockets, heads low to ward off the wind, "Hogsmeade weekend – and yet it's just the two of us."

"Yes, well, the rest of the Slytherins aren't exactly our best mates at the moment are they?" I couldn't recall the last time I had spoken to Terrence. I think it might have been during prefect patrols when we were once again paired together. But all we exchanged were pleasant insults. "Darlene is off – somewhere, Willow is Willow, no explanation needed-"

"Terrence is a dick and Flint is obsessed, "Adrian finished off. "It doesn't make this any less weird; we were always a group."

I nodded, but chose not to respond. We were a group, on the surface; and perhaps Lupin was right, secrets really do destroy people. We never trusted each other, so why should we stick around for one another?

A bunch of Gryffindor passed by us, one of the girls was crying and the other three were comforting her. "He's a jerk, not worth the ground you walk on."

"We can always set the Weasley twins on him-"

"I say we call it a day, and have a spa night!"

I shook my head. We never had spa nights in our dormitory when one of us was upset; hell, I don't think we've ever even stood close enough to each other to hug. "It's the curse of everyman for himself."

"Yes well, honesty is quite the stupid concept," he said eyeing the passing group. "And trust is not something to be taken easily."

I snorted. "You should know all about that, shouldn't you?" I said, sounding more acerbic than I had intended.

Adrian looked unfazed, his head was bowed slightly as the wind ruffled his hair, but his eyes were staring straight ahead. "Yes, I suppose I do."

"You've never told me the full tale," I said, taking long strides in order to keep up with Adrian's longer legs. "Whatever drove you towards Williams – was she just a pawn or was it real?"

Adrian didn't speak for a moment, but neither did he glare at me or spot walking. "Both, if I'm honest, which is a rather rare thing," I chuckled. "At first I needed her – my attempts to get my father to give up on me weren't working, and I needed to step things up."  
"Couldn't you have chosen someone I don't dislike as much, at least?"

He looked over his shoulder just as I stumbled with a snow covered rock. He caught me by the arms and stabilized me. "There is more substance in there than you give her credit for."  
I scoffed. "I find that hard to believe."

"I never meant to develop feelings for her," he said after releasing me, "It just sort of happens. Gryffindors are-"

"-Stupid?"

"- yeah, that too. But they are also quite refreshing, once you get past their pathological need to be-"

"-Stupid?"

"- I was going to say righteous, but I suppose that works," he said nodding. We were out of Hogsmeade by then, slowly making our way through the snow covered path that led back to the castle. Snowflakes were coming down, and the wind picked up speed. "Once you meet someone you know you can trust, it's hard not to; it becomes almost impossible not to be attracted by their lack of ulterior motive. But when you find out they were just like everyone else – it does break your heart."

"No," I said, taking my tongue out to catch a snowflake. "Lies don't break your heart, truth does. The lying just reminds you that we are all human, and we all look out for ourselves."

"Yes, and falling in love is believing the other person to be something more than a simple human."

"Miss Montieth, a word if you please?" I sighed, throwing the last pieces of parchment into my bag and walking towards Professor Vector's desk. She handed me my last essay without a word, her lips pursed thin enough to give McGonagall a run for her money. There was a big, fat 'T' right next to my title. "Well?"

I swallowed the lump on my throat, and decided I was done with lying. "I didn't even try, to be honest."

Professor Vector shook her head. "At least you have the decency to admit it. I'll be honest, Miss Montieth, unless you begin putting some serious work into this class I'm afraid you will not be getting a N.E.W.T. for it – and failing N.E.W.T.'s is much harder to explain to prospective employers than failing O.W.L.'s."

I nodded and walked away; if this had been the first piece of bad news I had received, I wouldn't be as bumped. But I had also gotten a 'D' in potions and herbology. Transfiguration, Charms and History of Magic I was doing alright with an 'A' each. But all professors (except for Binns, because frankly, he doesn't give a damn) had commented on the steep decline in my marks. And what could I tell them?

My father wants me to marry a troll whom I cannot stand, and I am trying to break said engagement. To do that, I have to convince the bloke I've disliked all my life, only to find out that I really kind of fancy him, to go with me to the Midsummer Ball. The only problem is he is no over the twit that cheated on him with my best friend. And if by some bleeding miracle I managed to pull this off without a) completely falling for the bloke or b) completely ruining myself, then I had to figure out what I wanted to do with my life which frankly, I had no clue. I never bothered to truly think about what I would want as a career –I always assumed I'd follow in my mother's step and become a homemaker. And my little cousin is being insufferable.

I sighed, threw the crumbled piece of parchment inside my bag and walked slowly. Perhaps I should ask Penelope for help… I was halfway to the library, when someone pulled me by the arm and dragged me inside a small, dark closet.

"There you are," I heard Oliver's Scottish voice saying; his arms were already around my waist and I was clutching the front of his robes to keep myself from falling. "I've been looking for you for ages; I've missed you," he said, nibbling at my earlobe.

My head felt like it was being pulled apart by horses. I wanted nothing more than to melt in his arms, and forget about everything, Flint, grades, jobs… but if there ever was a time to look after myself, this was it. Painfully, I tore my ear away from Oliver's teeth. It was so dark that I couldn't see his face, and it bothered. "I can't right now," I sad, my voice rasped and controlled. "I have a lot of homework to work on, in fact I was thinking about skipping lunch altogether and-"

He placed a finger on my lips, silencing me. "I know; I'm dead busy too, but we haven't seen each other in a while, Sarah. It almost feels like we aren't together."

If I'd chosen to focus on it, I could have felt his heart beating steadily through the fabric of his robes. My hand lingered on his chest for a second, before I willed myself to pull it away. "We aren't together, Oliver," I said, my right hand feeling the wooden door for a doorknob. He didn't reply and I twisted the knob open, hastily exiting the overcrowded broom closet.

I didn't speak or hear from Oliver until Valentine's Day. I had spent most of my time catching up on school work, enlisting both Adrian and Penelope's help to pass potions and arithmancy. So far, I wasn't getting anymore 'T's'. Professor Lupin had spent the last three classes going over theory, for the written portion of the N.E.W.T.'s, which meant that I had little to communicate with Oliver.

I would see him in the hallway, his head always busied in his Quidditch notebook, and my stomach would contract itself. Flint had stopped pestering me about that damned bet after I threw a bat-boogie curse at him one evening. I would get around to it, I kept telling myself. I still had time. But right now, I couldn't deal with it.

Merlin, I'm still not over you!

So I was pleasantly surprised when I received an owl on Valentine's morning – and it wasn't a joke or from my family. Adrian had quirked his eyebrows when he saw me hastily hide the piece of parchment, but said nothing. I waited until my free period to read it.

I know you are busy, but please meet me at the locker rooms at 7:30pm.  
Oliver.

The day flew by and I was walking through the grounds towards the Gryffindor locker rooms before I even realised the sun hadn't still gone fully down. I took a calming breath before opening the door; I had no idea what Oliver was up to, but I didn't need to be a genius to figure out where he was heading with is.

The room looked very much the same it always had; the same harsh lightening from the ceiling lamps, the same smell of sweat and soap, and nothing decorated. There were no candles, no candy, no heart shaped paper decorations. It looked like he hadn't invited me over to a private Valentine's party at all. And if the pang in my chest was anything to go by, I was badly disappointed.

"You are early," his voice made me jump. He was frustratingly dressed (unusual for this quarters), his head popping out of his office. He closed the door behind him and walked over, planting a small kiss on my cheek. "I'm sorry I have nothing prepared – the twins were having a hard time getting out."

I nodded, but kept quiet. "Hey, everything alright?" I made the mistake to look into his eyes, he was smiling brightly, and it reached his eyes. I bit my lip to stop myself from reacting; it felt like every particle in my body wanted to go in a million different directions and once – and I couldn't handle that. He placed his rough hand on my cheek, and caressed it slowly. I could hardly contain myself.

"Why did you leave like that, the day after the Ravenclaw game?"

His surprise was obvious in the way his hand stopped drawing tiny circles on my cheek; it took him a moment to find his voice. "So that's what's been bothering you. I thought you'd just grown bored of me."

"Oliver, cut the games," I said, slapping his hand away. "I just want to know why you left me."

"Sarah, it was nothing really; Abigail just made so angry I-"

"-conveniently forgot you've been snogging me in the sofa five minutes earlier?" I supplied, acid lacing each word. He looked to the side, massaging his neck.

"It wasn't as bad as you're making it sound."

I could feel bile rising up from my stomach, bitter and disappointing. "It wasn't that bad? I was there Oliver, while you were telling her that you still have feelings for her while you were with me! You- you didn't even remember I was there, did you?" I said slowly, trying to not choke on my words.

He sighed and turned around to look for something inside his locker, but I followed him, punching him on the shoulder to force him to pay attention. "You didn't, you didn't even remember I was in the bloody room, I was the one you were snogging just minutes before declaring undying love…"

"It was not a declaration of love, Sarah. Don't be a drama queen," he said, opening the locker door with more force than necessary and taking out a faded old red jumper.

"You told her you're still half in love with her!" I replied, grabbing his hand and stopping him from putting the jumper on. "Don't go calling me a drama queen."

His eyes flashed with anger, before settling back. His hand grabbed mine and pried it away from his arm almost mechanically, his face once again turned in the opposite direction from where I was standing. "What Abigail and I had was… special."

"No, it was a messed up teenage romance, not very different from me and Terrence and countless cheesy novels." I stared at his profile hard, willing him mentally to turn around and face me. Gryffindors are brave, yeah right. And I'm a godamned fairy tale princess.

"What do you want me to say, Sarah?" he said after a minute of awkward silence on his part, murdering images on mine. "Other than I still don't get what your problem is."

"My problem, dear Oliver," I said summoning my inner guru. "Is that you left me. You forgot all about me the moment that insipid cow walked in and-" and it bleeding hurt, you big, stupid git, I wanted to scream at him, punching him in the chest until it was covered in bruised so he'd know how I've been feeling for the past weeks.

"And last time I checked, you have no right to come arguing about privileges, Sarah," he said, facing me at last. His face was red and his eyes were ice cold. "Abigail, whether you want it or not, was –is- and important part of my life."

That stung. "And I'm not, is that what you are saying?"

"I'm saying, I loved her. You are just a friend."

"Just a friend you like feeling up."

He gave me an exasperated look, silently imploring me to drop it. His whole body was rigid with tension and guarded anger. I stood my ground, as stubbornly as a scared mule. "We both know I am nothing more than an affair to you. Something you can discard come the time to marry your prince charming – a toy, a game to tell your daughter. Did you know I once had a little thing with a half-blood? Quite the scandal it was…" he said in a mockingly sweet tone. I couldn't help rolling my eyes at his childishness, but he continued. "You said so yourself: we are not together. You made the rules."

"No feelings attached, that was the agreement," recited monotone less.

"You are a bleeding walking contradiction, you know that?" he said, finally putting the damned jumper on. "Drive a bloke made that's what you do…"

Oh no you don't. "Don't you blame it all on me; you're insufferably confusing," I said, taking a seat on an empty bench. Wood stayed standing, but my head was cradled between my hands and I couldn't see his expression. Merlin, when did things get so messed up?

"Here," I looked up; he was holding a heart-shaped box of chocolates in front of me. I grabbed it slowly, my fingers brushing against his, sending waves of emotion I wasn't ready to handle through my body. "It's your valentine's present – I wasn't sure if you'd want them, seeing how we are not together and all."

I didn't say anything, just stared at the box in my hand. I was afraid if I opened my mouth, I'd voice out everything I've been trying to deny, and I would be left with nothing but my own vulnerability. A moment later, he sat down beside me, his head also down. "You don't have, you know, feelings for me, do you?"

I don't need to take a moment to think; my eyes weren't blinking. "Of course not, Oliver. You are just a good kisser, nothing more."

"Good. It wouldn't do good to take this further than what it is."

"But I'm calling off this bluff," I said, standing up and putting the chocolates down on the spot where I had been sitting. "I won't be ignored, and I most definitely will not be second to anyone. I want it all, or I want out."

His face betrayed his surprise and, maybe I am imagining things, hurt lingered behind his chocolate brown eyes. I felt a lump inside my throat, but I willed myself to stay strong.

He jumped on his feet as if I had lit a firecracker beneath his arse. He stood before me, his brown eyes trying to read something in my face that I wasn't sure what it was. All I knew was that I was crumbling beneath his stare. But I closed off my mind to him, forcing all thoughts and feelings to disappear. Sometimes, it is better not to prod too deep.

"You do have feelings for me."

"No, you are confusing emotions with pride."

"I don't believe you."

"If it makes you feel better, believe whatever you want. I do not have feelings for you Oliver Wood," I said through clenched teeth.

He snorted, shaking his head, disbelievingly. "So your plan was what, have me fall for you and then stab me in the back? Very Slytherin of you."

I shrugged, too tired to answer his petty questions and too surprised at how close he came to the truth. Pity irony rules my life. "It's not like you would ever even want to go public, Oliver," he looked away, avoiding me once more. "I would only be a black mark on your goody-two shoes reputation."

He didn't deny it.

And I had to resist the urge to use the cruciatus curse right then and there. With my head held up high, I walked out of the locker room without looking back. Let him have a dose of his own potion.

"Is it love you really want, Sarah?" I heard him calling as I reached the door. I looked over my shoulder; he was in the same spot as before, but he was clutching the box of chocolates.

"I don't want games Oliver; I'm so tired of games."

He put the box back on the bench and took a step forward, but stopped walking just feet ahead of me. "If you promise not to play with me…" I shook my head, knowing what follows by heart. Terrence said it once. "You are right; I'm still not over Abigail and it isn't fair – I guess, I just need time-"

"By all means, take all the time you need, Oliver," I said opening my arms as to indicate the length of time he can take, "I won't wait for you." It is time I learn to value myself, and I won't be second guessed. Not again.

I offered him a last, sad smile before turning to walk towards the castle. Snow was falling, and the wind sent chills up my spine. I wanted nothing more than to turn around and see if he was still there, looking. But I have more pride than that. I was almost at the stairs, about to open the door, hoping he'll come running after me, telling me he doesn't care (meaning it, for a change)- but all I heard the washed sound of a door closing in the distance.


	24. Wavering Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I closed my eyes. "I can't face him and tell him the truth, Willow."
> 
> "You better do, before someone else makes the decision for you."

Of course, the consequences of my pride didn't take long to make themselves noticed. In fact, I think that if Flint had dressed up like a giant Panda bear and started stalking me with a radio blasting "la-la-la-la-la ask the boy out la-la-la-la" it might have stood a chance of being overlooked. Unfortunately, my life isn't nearly as easy or hysterical. I had to endure Oliver's stony silence for three hours every two days during Defence Against the Dark Arts (gave up after the second class, which is why I now had to do weekly detentions with Professor Lupin). I also had to endure Flint tagging me wherever we went and sending me evil looks; he would hiss under his breath, pinch the back of my arm, pull on my hair – if we were five years old, I would just assume that Flint was in love with me and commit suicide. Unfortunately, I had to assume the second-worst scenario: he was getting desperate to break this engagement. And it was all my fault.

After a particularly gruelling detention session with Professor Lupin two weeks after the Oliver-sees-me-as-a-friend-fiasco, I was almost reduced to tears. Professor Lupin had figured out that I enjoyed cleaning and it was therapeutic, so he decided to amplify my torture by forcing me to practice the Patronous charm.

"Easy does it, Miss Montieth," Lupin said, sounding far away in a distant land instead of the very real three feet away he was. "Just concentrate hard on your happy memory."

I scrunched my eyes, forcing all of my brain cells to focus on the happy memory. The problem was, my memories were lacking. And it was hard to concentrate on something happy when all I felt like doing was crawling into a foetal position, make a cocoon with my blankets and don't wake up until Flint told me he found another way out of the engagement.

"Expecto-Expecto Patronum!" I shouted, my eyes focused on the tip of my wand, my hand held out steady. I sucked in my breath as a thin vapour substance appeared on the tip, before vanishing seconds later. "Bugger," I muttered, cleaning sweat from my forehead.

"That's an improvement," Lupin said walking towards me. He fished something out of his pocket and offered it to me. It was a large chocolate bar from honeyducks. "What memory were you focusing on this time? I think it had the essence of it, but it wasn't strong enough."  
I blushed. "I was swimming in the ocean," with Oliver, and his wet shirt plastered across his broad chest, his hair sticking to his forehead and his eyes sparkling with laughter.

Salazar, I'm your valued servant: please murder me.

Lupin eyed me for a moment. "And what about that memory made you happy?" I shrugged. "What I mean is you've been choosing innocuous memories – swimming in the ocean, skipping class to be with your boyfriend, playing pranks of people you don't like… I can't help but wonder what they all have in common."

I thought about it for a moment as I tasted the bitter chocolate. What did those three memories have in common? Swimming with Oliver had been… liberating, I had never dared to do something so reckless before. And the feeling of knowing he was there for me was as comforting as I assumed a motherly hug would be.

Terrence had always been a fantastic boyfriend, cheating aside. He was a prince charming sprung out of a fairy-tale: handsome, chivalrous and charming to a fault. And he was excellent at making a girl feel like a princess.

And then playing havoc on miscellaneous people with Adrian's help was always amusing.

"I felt safe," I muttered at last, "I was with people that I knew I could trust no matter what happened. And I could let myself go."

"Safety isn't happiness, Miss Montieth."

"It's the closest I've gotten, I think."

Lupin sighed and took a seat on an empty chair; he motioned for me to take the one in front of him. "We'll try again in a few minutes but," he said raising a finger as I scooped my quilt beneath me, "I want you to focus on a different aspect of the memory."

"Which one?"

"The moment when you were able to let go," he said, putting his elbows on his legs and leaning forward. "Forget the person you were with or what you were doing and focus on that. Then we'll see what happens."

I nodded, my eyes focused on the chocolate. Forget who I was with? Yeah, right. I snorted. "The only reason I was able to let go was because they were with me."

"But that seems to hinder your progress rather than accelerate it."

"Well of course it does!" I raised my voice and eyes; my hands went limp at my sides and the chocolate fell on the floor. "They are all liars. There is not a single person in my life I can trust without a doubt." Well, maybe Gwen. To a certain degree. The girl is crafty, bloody Ravenclaw-should've-been-Slytherin. And Francis, the poor bloke lacks a brain.

Lupin stared at me as if he could see through me. I jumped to my feet and whirled around, not caring that I had ruined a perfectly good and innocent bar of chocolate. I began pacing across the small room, my hands alternating between my hair and my hips. My chest was rising and falling with the speed of a Firebolt and I could feel the beginnings of a panic attack. These had happened at least twice in the last couple of weeks; Adrian had tried to take to see Madam Pomfrey when I had to scamper out of charms when Williams asked Oliver for a quill while Flint pestered me. The bloody idiot thought I needed mood stabilizing potions; as if he cared. Adrian had used me; I had been nothing but a pawn in his stupid emancipation and I knew he wouldn't hesitate to utilize me again, if need be. And the saddest part was, I couldn't blame him because if could use someone to get me out of my situation, I would do so too.

Then Terrence had sent a snarky smile over breakfast this morning, the kind that implies "I know you are self-destructing and I'm enjoying every second of your supernova implosion." It made my skin crawl to think of how far I had gone for that bloke, how much I had trusted him, how far I had fallen. Had I been truly so naïve not to notice the snake changing his skin? I understood now that what we had was a matter of mutual convenience, but somewhere along the road I had allowed myself to dream. How could I look back to the good times, knowing how it all ended?

Then there was Oliver, the one bloke I would've bet my inheritance was honest: one moment has his hand up my quilt, the next he is confessing to my sworn enemy he still has bloody feelings for her. But I couldn't blame him, not when I had laid down the foundation to a rocky house; not when I couldn't muster up the courage to open up and tell him the truth: that despite my best intentions and judgement, I had dreamt again and gotten hurt.

"I can't overlook what's happened," I said while still pacing, "I can't ignore that I know how the book ends."

"All these people let you down, not one of them has a redeemable quality, something to save the story?"  
I looked away; perhaps I was not ready to consider that possibility.

Lupin nodded, his expression showed no surprise, but compassion. It made me want to run him over with a herd of hippogriffs until he lay flat on the ground. "You can't help their actions, Elizabeth. You can only help yours."

"Yes, and what a jolly good job I've done making decisions," I spat. I chose to get engaged to Flint, thinking it would give me my happy ending; I chose to get involved with Oliver, clearly not thinking at all. And I chose to stick around with Adrian, despite knowing what a cunning little twit he is. "Nothing has ever worked out the way I planned it to."

"Happiness, Elizabeth, is a flighty mistress – like a ray of sunshine in the middle of winter. You have to enjoy it for as long as it lasts, however brief, and however harsh the days after become."

I snorted. "How can I remember things fondly when I've never been let down gently?"

Lupin rose from his seat and walked over to the window. Night had fallen and thrown the room into darkness, only the light of a few, sparse candles remained. "People will always hurt you, and those you thought you could trust will hurt you the most," Lupin said with a hoarse voice. He turned around to face me; the lines on his face made him look much older than he was. "You have to make your own happy memories, Elizabeth. When you re-read the book, look for the small details that made you love it the first time you read them and revisit those. Take note of the warning signs so you can learn, but approach the story with an open heart. Many things you can discover if you choose to ignore the end."

"That makes no sense," I said, shaking my head, "If you ignore the end, what are you left with?"  
"The means," Lupin said slowly. "You are left with the journey. What is more important, the story itself or how it ends?"

I opened my mouth to argue, but closed it. The end was the story – everyone knows that. You read to find out what happens next, knowing full well that all the trials the hero goes through are merely means to that ending. But just because it doesn't work out, does it render everything else null?

"Sometimes, you have to choose how to look back at things, or else you'll tarnish all your memories until you are left with nothing."

Huh. I blinked at him and he smiled. "It is alright to make mistakes, Elizabeth."

On the way to the common room, I had to hide behind a statue as I watched Oliver walk by with some of his friends. I stared at his profile; while his friends talked animatedly, his eyes were downcast, his hands were hidden inside his trousers' pockets and his brow was furrowed. I felt my intestines constrict and I wanted to call out. I wanted to reach out to him, to fix a lose strand of hair behind his ear and tell him that I was sorry, so sorry I had never given us a proper charm. Then he turned a corner, and my chance was gone.

I made it back to my dormitory with the biggest headache ever. Willow was already up there. She tried to talk to me, but I made a straight line to my bed, closed the curtains around it and charmed it so no one could hear me. I laid awake all night, staring at the ceiling, contemplating.

"It is alright to make mistakes, Elizabeth."

"You have to make your own happy memories."

Was it even worth the risk?

The next few days were a numb blur. All I could think of was Oliver, and my feelings for him and, most importantly, all my fears. All the things I didn't want to admit out loud, thoughts that had created a nest inside my head that I knew I couldn't get rid of. I was far too deep inside the story to be able to backtrack, and yet I couldn't read the signs.

So I wrote. I wrote down everything that was wrong with my life at the moment; everything that had ever gone wrong, and everything I wanted to change. I caught Adrian, Gwen and even Willow giving me looks through the week, trying to check my temperature, offering me chocolate. But it was as if I were enveloped in a cloud of my own making which I couldn't undo.

"You can't help their actions, Elizabeth. You can only help yours."

I couldn't help it that Oliver had feelings for Williams. I couldn't help it that I had feelings for Oliver. I couldn't help it that in order to be free of Flint, I had to tell the one person who had always thought good of me that I had signed my life away for a childish dream. How would he react, I wondered? A person who had always followed his ambitious with determination, how would he see me if he knew? Would he think me weak, useless, worthless? Or would he find it in him to understand and offer me a helping hand, a friendly hand?

I had taken to hiding behind the statue of Boris the Bewildered; a small passage was hidden behind the moth-eaten purple curtain that stood behind the statue. I sat there, moving the curtain enough to grant me a small window and just watched as the Gryffindors made their way back to their common room. I would have to spend a large amount of time in the girls' loo after class to lose Adrian; the idiot that taken it to following my trail. I would wait for Oliver to return from practice and then make his way back down for dinner, and I would just hope for my courage to make itself known.

There was a parchment I kept with me. I had dubbed it "Elizabeth gets her out-of-wack life back in order." In it I had written all those things that needed attending to: bringing my Transfiguration mark up to par, asking Penelope for assistance with Arithmancy, seeing Snape regarding career options, asking Adrian to teach me to fly, telling Oliver that I fancy him. So far, I had accomplished none.

The Weasley twins had walked thorough this hallway several minutes ago - he was always the last one to leave, so he shouldn't be too long. Not a moment later, I heard footsteps. My muscles tightened and I clenched the piece of parchment against my chest. I listened and pushed myself closer against the wall. My heart was being erratic. When the footsteps were right next to me, I tensed. A second later, the curtain swung open.

A thousand images flooded my head. But none were close to what was standing in front of me.

I rolled my eyes. "What the bloody hell are you doing here, Willow? Come to hit me when I'm low?"

Willow shrugged. She stepped over my stretched legs and took a seat next to me so she was facing me. The curtain closed behind her. There were muffled footsteps on the other side. "You need to stop reading so many muggle romance novels, Eliza," she said after the sounds were gone. "Have you no imagination?"

I clutched the parchment that had become my lifeline close to my chest. "I don't know what you are taking about."

She arched an eyebrow. "You weren't planning on kidnapping Wood so you could confess your undying love and perhaps ask him to be your date for the Misnomer Ball?"

My cheeks blushed. "Whatever gave you that idea? I had a wicked prank planned for him simply because he is an annoying twit."

"It is item number three on your parchment," she said. My eyes snapped down to my list and clearly, there it was. Item #3: Kidnap Oliver Wood, confess feelings, ask him to be my date as a friend, end engagement, remain friend-zoned. Bloody witch. "Honestly, a Slytherin like you shouldn't be struggling so much. Whatever happened to good old blackmail?"

I rolled my parchment up and slid it inside my robes' pocket. My eyes closed and I leaned my head back against the cold wall. Bloody Willow. "I was hoping to avoid that."

"And do what, be honest?" I shrugged. "Were you going to tell him that you are engaged to Marcus Flint as well?"

I didn't bother to open my eyes. I was beyond caring. A girl could only deal with so much. Of course Willow would know. Willow always knew. It was the quiet ones you had to watch out for. "Who else knows?"

"My mother is an old friend of Flint's," she said by way of an answer, "I heard it from her."

"Willow," I said with a sigh, "if you are here to poke fun at me for being engaged to a troll-"

"I'm here because Adrian sent me," she said, interrupting me. I opened my eyes; Willow had a fire in hers that wasn't often seen. "We've all noticed there is something unusually wrong with you. He was concerned you'd do something stupid, and I volunteered to follow you where he couldn't."

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. Bloody Adrian thinking he could be all charming and chivalrous. "What I don't understand," Willow continued, ignoring my discomfort, "is why you haven't done anything? The loophole to your engagement was discovered weeks ago. Why don't you just ask Wood to the Ball? It can't be that difficult. He's fancied you since at least fourth year."

"Willow," I said trying to remain as calm as I could. "Flying around trying to steal a dragon's egg isn't a difficult task. Sorting out my Oliver Wood issues was close to impossible. "Don't speak of what you don't know."  
She rolled her eyes. "I've seen you come out of his changing room with the biggest smile you've ever had. Whatever happened between you two shouldn't stop you from breaking your engagement to Flint."  
My eyes narrowed. I really didn't have the energy to deal with Willow and her shit. Why couldn't Adrian have followed me? At least he wouldn't be so painfully right. And he probably hadn't figured out as much, either. "How are you so sure I'm not just pretending I want to break it off, but severely I am dying to get married to the troll?"  
"Because you keep calling him a troll."  
"All couples have their nicknames."  
"Elizabeth, you don't want to marry him."  
"But maybe I do. I would, after all, solve everything. I wouldn't have to endure this lovely conversation with you because it wouldn't bloody matter," my hands began tingling and my chest heaving, "I wouldn't have to face Snape and tell him I need help finding a career path because I wouldn't bloody need to work. My family wouldn't hate my guts and I wouldn't have to give a darn about my Artithmancy grade!"

"Elizabeth, breathe," I heard Willow's voice as if it were coming from a distance. My head was spinning and not for the first time this week, I felt like crying. When had I allowed things to get so out of hand?

"Stop holding your head like a mad woman, Elizabeth," Willow's hands were pulling at my arms. I hadn't even noticed when I had wrapped them over my head. I looked up, not surprised to notice that my eyes were wet.

Perhaps I do need some mood-stabilizing potions…

Whatever minute kindness had been in Willow's eyes, was now gone and replaced by harsh determination. "Don't over think, Eliza, you know how bad that is for your nerves." I nodded. Willow let out a breath and took a seat in front of me. The corridor was narrow enough that our knees touched.

"You don't want to marry Flint, of that much you should be sure."

"You seem awfully invested in this-"

She rolled her eyes. "You are just confusing yourself as an excuse not to deal with your real problem."

"This stupid engagement is a real problem."

"Then why are you hesitating? Just ask the bloody bloke out!" her voice bounced inside the corridor, and I had to put my fingers inside my ears to keep them from popping.

"Calm down, woman, before you confirm all suspicions that you are related to a banshee."

"Your level of inactivity frustrates me."

"Well, it shouldn't really"

"-you just enjoy playing with people's lives…"

"Has it ever occurred to you that this matter may be more delicate than you give it credit for?" both our voices were raising. I could feel the anger I've been bottling down for weeks ready to erupt. Willow kept blabbering on while my mind hit a road block.

She rolled her eyes and balled her palms. "You are so selfish you never notice how your actions impact others."

"How can I spare others a second thought when I cannot decide if I want Oliver to know I fancy him or not?"

Willow shut up. There was a smug smirk on her face which I didn't like. My lungs were heaving in air and my chest was rising up and down with all the speed of a Firebolt. I stood up, pulled at my hair and began to pace.

"This is bloody hard! This is amongst the hardest thing for me do! If Oliver knew I had signed my life away, he would never look at me the same way. And I rather have him not look at me at all, rather than with contempt," everything came out. It was like having verbal vomit. All my anger towards my father, my brother, Flint, Oliver and towards me just came out. At the end of it I was so bloody tired, I just let myself fall on the ground again.

"Feel better?"

"Loads," I croaked, "Still no bleeding clue what to do, though."

Willow stood up and placed a reassuring hand on my shoulder. "If it was me and what I want, I would do whatever it takes, pay whatever the price."

I closed my eyes. "I can't face him and tell him the truth, Willow."

"You better do, before someone else makes the decision for you."

**Author's Note:**

> First chapter in the series! Hope you enjoy. Review/Kudos/Constructive criticism much welcomed!


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